


It’s So Romantic in Paris

by hannrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Paris - Freeform, Slow Burn, cute!, liz and peter are a thing for a while, studying abroad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-11-05 08:51:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17915693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannrose/pseuds/hannrose
Summary: “it’s so romantic in paris / won’t even try to compare it / but i already have love in (ny)”peter and michelle bond during their foreign exchange program in paris, and get a little too close. at least, that’s what peter’s girlfriend would think.





	1. Chapter 1

**PETER**

 

To no one’s surprise, he was running late.

 

He had been at Liz’s house for the past hour; forty minutes longer than he had planned for. She had to repack all of his clothes, comb through his hair, lecture him about how being away from her was not an excuse to fall out of love. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to back out. I mean, seriously. Midtown is going to be so lonely without you.”

 

She grabbed his hand, forcing him to cup her face. “That’s not true, Liz. You have so many friends. Maybe… maybe too many friends. I’m one less person for you to worry about.”

 

“I’m  _ going _ to worry about you! You’re going to be in Paris, all alone, for six months! You don’t even know French! And going to the most romantic city in the world, without your girlfriend? Seriously, Peter, I’m going to worry about you.”   
  


“I’m going there for  _ school _ . That’s all. I’ll have a host family where I’m going to live with another student who is going. And you know you don’t have to worry about me falling for anyone else. You’re the only person in my sights.” He leaned in, hoping for a kiss so he could depart to the airport.

 

Liz moved her head back. “I didn’t say that, but funny that you did. Just promise me that you’ll think about me, every single day. And that if you meet some skanky Parisian boy or girl, you won’t cheat on me.”

 

“How could you even think--”

 

“ _ Promise _ ,” she demanded. “You’re going a million miles away, I’m allowed to feel insecure.”

 

“Alright, alright. I promise I won’t meet some skanky Parisian and cheat on you. Happy now?”

 

Liz pouted. “I’d be happier if you were staying but… It’s acceptable.” And, finally, she closed the gap between them. They fell backwards onto her bed, exchanging a last round of sloppy kisses.

 

He stayed too late. It wasn’t until her father--a big, burly man who hated Peter’s guts--had walked into the room, asking why Peter’s shoes were still in the hallway, that made him alert of what time it was. He had never been on time for anything in his life, so of course he wasn’t on time for the most important event ever.

 

Peter was participating in a foreign exchange program. He was beyond excited; he’d been stuck in New York his entire life and he was so ready for a change, after everything that had happened in his short duration on Earth. He worked for two years straight to pay for it-- taking any job that would hire him, cleaning rat traps and disinfecting dirty, rank bathrooms. Peter wanted this  _ so badly _ , and when he finally got the money to go, he didn’t even care that he was leaving his girlfriend.

 

Of course, he didn’t tell her that. He told her that he debated over it for hours, and needed her blessing to go before he gave a downpayment. “Hell no,” Liz had first refused. “We’ve only been together for three months! And you want to run off to Paris? No way.”

 

Peter had begged, and begged, for literal days. Liz was stubborn, and had been spoiled into believing everything had to go her way. Eventually, Peter had worked his way into getting her to say yes-- and, at the same time, they had exchanged their first “I love you’s.” It wasn’t the way he had planned to tell her, and he really did love her. And, it had gotten her to give in. “As long as you promise to always love me,” she had said that night. “My heart will remain strong, even if you are on the other side of the world.”

 

Liz was a tiny bit dramatic. Peter quite liked that, however. It made her more passionate in every single thing she did.

 

Her dad drove him to the airport. Liz and Peter sat in the backseat, and she was taking selfies to “remember how much we love each other.” For most of the ride though, she laid down in Peter’s lap--not wearing her seatbelt--and ranted about how much this all sucked. She said the same thing a million times; so much so that her dad turned up the radio to an almost deafening level.

 

Liz was so cute. And she loved him so much. Peter was lucky to have her.

 

“Call me every night,” she said. They stood outside of her father’s car, the bustling airport almost drowning out Liz’s words.

 

“I have to go,” Peter stressed. He could see a sign that had the exchange agency’s name on it, with a woman and a girl around his age standing next to it.

 

“Call me every night. I want to hear everything, even if you think I don’t want to. I love you so much, Peter.” Liz kissed him; a wet, sloppy, assertive kiss. Her father honked the horn.

 

“I love you, too, Liz. Now, I really have to go.” He lifted his suitcase off of the ground, looking into her eyes one last time. Her beautiful brown eyes that were clouded in a distraught sadness; he almost wanted to stay. But… but  _ Paris _ . Peter pulled her in for one last embrace. “I love you, so much.”

 

“I love you, too, baby. Call me when you land,” Liz whispered in his ear.

 

Peter separated from her, and began to walk away. He didn’t feel the urge to look over his shoulder, since he was way too excited for what was about to happen, however he knew that Liz would be even more upset if he didn’t. So, he took a last look at his girlfriend, and waved goodbye.

 

There was nothing standing between him and Paris now.

 

“You’re late,” said the woman holding the sign. “Twenty minutes! We were about to leave you.” Her name was Ms. Richards. She had interviewed Peter a handful of times before letting him know that he was invited to this program.

 

“I wouldn’t let her do that,” said the girl next to her. Peter didn’t know her. Her hair was tangled across her shoulder, and she was wearing a sweatshirt and leggings even though it was late August. She might’ve been pretty, if Peter didn’t have a girlfriend. “I’m, uh, I’m Michelle Jones. We’re going to be housemates for the next six months.”

 

“Peter Parker. It’s nice to meet you, Michelle. Thanks for not leaving without me,” he smiled. He stuck out his hand, and she met it with a firm grip. 

 

“Let’s get you two through security,” Ms. Richards said, and turned her back to them without warning. She was a nasty older woman whom Peter practically detested.

 

He mocked her, contorting his face and mouthing her words. Michelle giggled before shoving her elbow into his side, and saying, “We’re behind schedule, let’s get going.”

 

They had to get their boarding passes first, which was a long line in itself. Ms. Richards was lecturing them on their situation, for what felt like the hundredth time. “You must be back in your host home by ten p.m., unless you are told otherwise. You two are  _ not _ sharing rooms, only a host family. You must attend school and may never skip a day, just like school here. And if you are found with any drugs or alcohol on your person, all your privileges will be stripped.”

 

“Lame,” Peter whispered under his breath. Michelle rolled her eyes and stifled a laugh.

 

“And, Peter, I understand you don’t speak French?” Ms. Richards asked.

 

“I don’t. You  _ know _ this.” He had only told her twenty times.

 

“Well, lucky for you, it’s an international school, mostly taught in English. However, Michelle here does know French, so I’m sorry you can’t be fully immersed.” Ms. Richards gave Peter a dirty look, as if it was his fault that they weren’t separating the two of them.

 

“Oh, it’s no big deal. My French is only good for getting around town, so I don’t think I’d be able to learn European History with it.”

 

Ms. Richards shook her head. “It’s still a shame.”

 

At that point, they found their way to the front desk, and Peter groaned excessively. “Just think about this,” Michelle told him. “Twelve hours, and then the next time you see her will be in six whole months.”

 

“But that means I have to be with her for  _ twelve hours _ .” He dug his passport out of his backpack, and handed it over to Ms. Richards. Michelle did the same.

 

“At least you won’t have to handle her alone, right?” Michelle grinned, bumping shoulders with Peter.

 

Thank god, Peter thought.

 

Just standing in the line for TSA, Peter learned a lot about her. She lived in Brooklyn, and went to a private school there. She had two cats that she was going to miss with all her heart-- their names were Timothee and Tabitha, which were too human for Peter’s taste. “Don’t you dare make fun of my cats’ names. They’re cute and French and a  _ stranger _ doesn’t get to belittle the names I picked when I was ten,” Michelle had argued. She, also, wanted to be a journalist one day; the type that took down empires. And, she had never been so excited for something in her whole life.

 

That was something Peter could relate to.

 

“So, what about you?” Michelle asked. They were putting their shoes back on after their incident free TSA visit. “Was that girl who dropped you off your girlfriend?”

 

“You saw that?” he said. 

 

“You were sucking face right outside JFK airport. I think  _ everyone _ saw it.” Michelle finished tying her laces, and rose back to her amazingly tall height. 

 

“Yeah, yeah she’s my girlfriend. Her name is Liz, and we’ve been dating close to a year. Our anniversary is actually in two months. Kinda sucks that I won’t get to spend it with her.” 

 

They were on the move again, without a word from Ms. Richards. 

 

Michelle nodded her head, agreeing. Her curls bounced on her shoulders. “I had a boyfriend once. He was a terrible, terrible-- oh, shit. I’m talking about myself again. Anyways, yeah, that sucks. But this is a pretty great opportunity. I think it’s better than some silly anniversary.”

 

“It’s not silly!” Peter’s voice went high. “Liz deserves a good celebration. But-- yeah, maybe you’re right.”

 

“Course I am. You’ll come to learn that I’m always right.” She grinned, toothless, and they fell into a manageable silence. 

 

Michelle seemed nice enough. She laughed at his jokes, so automatically that meant she had a great sense of humor, and she seemed smart, and driven. Peter didn’t see himself getting sick of her in those six months. 

 

They got to the gate and took three seats next to each other. Michelle sat in the middle of Peter and Ms. Richards, who was speaking on the phone in French. It reminded him that he should call his aunt; he promised he would before the flight took off.

 

“Peter, I found your inhaler,” May said, as soon as she answered the phone. She sounded frantic, like she’d been running around the apartment for hours. “Why didn’t you take it with you?”

 

“May, I haven’t needed my inhaler for six years.” In the corner of his eye, Peter saw Michelle put her phone down, to stare at him with an intrigued intensity. ‘ _ May _ ?’ she mouthed.

 

“Well, the air in Paris might be different! Do you want me to send it to you? I can also send more clothes, and some more cash, and your favorite blanket. Would that be nice?” For the past few weeks, May had been slowly becoming more and more unwound. She was probably more nervous than Peter was.

 

Peter was the only family May had, and it was the same the other way around. They hadn’t been apart for more than a weekend, let alone having a million miles separating them. He couldn’t just call her to pick him up from a party anymore; she couldn’t call to tell him to pick up dinner because she burned yet another meal. They had to do things by themselves, from now on. That was the one thing holding Peter back from applying sooner, but May had stressed that she would be okay. “I don’t need you, kid,” she had joked. “I’m going to be so happy to get your hormonal ass out of this apartment, you don’t even know.”

 

“I’m fine, I promise. The flight takes off in about an hour or so, and I’m just checking in. I have everything: my phone, my charger, my money. And I can just buy the things I forgot.”

 

“Can’t buy another inhaler, can you?”

 

“ _ May _ , I don’t need--”

 

“I know, I know.” May sighed, and Peter could picture her running her hand through her hair, the way she always did when she was stressed, accompanied by furrowed brows. “You’ve grown up so fast, Peter. I’m so proud of you. Shit, I said I wouldn’t cry. That’s enough talking, I have dinner plans with my girls, and I can’t show up with a puffy face. Text me before you take off, and call me as soon as you land! Even if I’m sleeping.”

 

“I will,” Peter promised. “Have fun at dinner. Love you, May.”

 

“Whatever, kid. Love you.”

 

He set his phone down on his lap, and Michelle was still peering at him. “Sorry, I wasn’t listening or anything. I have an inquisitive nature, so-- who’s May?”

 

“May is my aunt who raised me. I’ve never been apart from her, and she’s pretty nervous.” Michelle had a strip of purple hair that he had just noticed. It was cool, he decided.

 

“Oh, that’s nice. So your parents are…?” Her voice trailed off, expecting him to fill in the blanks. Instead, Peter slumped down in his seat, and didn’t give an answer. “Okay, cool. You don’t have to answer right now. I’m just some strange girl who you hardly know, why would you share something like that?”

 

“Michelle?” Peter said, eliciting a high sounding  _ hm? _ from her. “Do you always talk this much?”

 

She scoffed nervously, her face beginning to blush. “Nervous tick. I’m sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

 

“No, Michelle, you can talk all you want. I just needed to know, for the plane ride. We’re sitting next to each other.” He pointed to her boarding pass, which was one letter away from his.

 

“Oh. I talk even more on planes, they kinda freak me out. Or I just play my music super loud and start drumming on the pull-out tray. If I ever annoy you, just tell me to shut up. Maybe I’ll listen.” Michelle smiled, and her leg shook against Peter’s. “Oh! And my friends, well, they call me MJ.”

 

“Okay, MJ.”

 

“I didn’t say we were friends,” she deadpanned. Peter’s face fell, and he became to stammer out senseless words. Then, her expression brightened. “Calm down, stranger. It’s for future reference.”

 

Peter relaxed, his chuckle echoing in his mind. 

 

For the rest of the time, they didn’t talk. Michelle stuck her music into her ears, and as she had admitted, she played it loud enough for Peter to mimic the lyrics. And usually, when kids at school did that, it was always an obnoxious rap song that bombarded his ears. However, whatever song Michelle was listening to, had a nice, sweet melody, and enticing vocals. He even wanted to hear the song himself.

 

But, he wasn’t going to ask her. Her leg had just stopped bouncing on and off the floor, and if he disrupted her, she might’ve started it up again.

 

Peter just texted Liz. She was still anxious about his departure, and wanted to know everything. Every little detail about what happened in front of him, or next to him, or who was going with him. Maybe it just slipped his mind, but Peter decided that Liz didn’t  _ need _ to know about Michelle. Or, perhaps he knew how much she would’ve freaked out, learning that a girl was staying in the same place Peter was for the next six months. A girl that wasn’t her.

 

To him, it didn’t matter. Michelle was so wildly different from the girls he usually liked; he couldn’t predict being attracted to her. Especially when he had Liz, the ultimate girlfriend, back home. So there was no need to worry her.

 

They boarded their flight at six o’clock, just as Peter’s stomach began to rumble. He had bought snacks from one of the stores, and when they sat down in their seats, he busted them out and started surveying the movie list. He’d never been on an airplane before; he was excited.

 

“Can I have a Pringle?” Michelle asked. She had bought a Coke and a salad, even though she claimed that they were serving dinner on the plane.

 

“Sure.” He tilted the can of sour cream and onion Pringles her way, and instead of taking just one, Michelle took three. Peter sighed, and choked down his comment. He returned to picking out a movie.

 

“I get really nervous when I fly,” she continued. “I don’t get nauseous, or anything, but I just get really-- I don’t know. I apologize in advance.”

 

“Just pick out a movie, and relax.” Peter tapped her screen, activating it. Then he found  _ Back to the Future _ , and was content with that option.

 

He texted May and Liz, that they were about to takeoff, and then he put his phone on airplane mode. He tried not to notice that Michelle didn’t text anyone; just automatically turning it off and sliding it into the front pocket. She leaned back in her seat, attempting to focus on the movie she picked.

 

When the plane rose into the air, she gripped onto Peter’s hand. Michelle squeezed her eyes shut and took large, deep breathes, and once more, her leg began to shake against his. “It’s okay,” Peter promised, unaware if she could even hear him or not. “Michelle, look. We’re in the air, and we’re completely fine.”

 

He opened the window’s shade, exposing the layer of puffy clouds. It was almost seven o’clock now, and the sun was setting over New York, making everything golden in hue. He was captivated, honestly. And Peter knew that clouds weren’t solid, and if you tried to lay on one, you’d just fall right through-- but they looked so full, and tempting, and he wanted to know what would really happen.

 

“I’m fine, Peter.”

 

“Then why are you still holding my hand?” he asked.

 

She jerked it back, and her arm invaded their shared arm rest. “I’m trying to watch my movie,” she deflected.

 

Whenever turbulence would hit them, Michelle would brace herself by grabbing his hand again. And, when the sun set and most of the passengers turned their movies off, Michelle fell asleep on his shoulder. It was either him, or Ms. Richards, who was sitting on her other side. 

 

Peter, though, he stayed awake. His anticipating was sucking all of his exhaustion out of him. When Michelle fell asleep, Paris was four hours away. When he got up to go to the bathroom, three hours. When they served breakfast, two hours, and he started playing one last movie to make the time fly.

 

It was so close, he could almost taste it. This trip that he’d dreamed of for years was finally becoming a reality, and Peter didn’t want to lose any time. He didn’t know how Michelle could just sleep through the flight, because May had always said how the journey was just as important as the destination. Of course, he didn’t know if that was a fact or not; this was his first time out of the city.

 

Him and Michelle were just different, he assumed. He hoped it to be a good thing, or else the next six months weren’t going to be as grand as he had always wanted it to be.


	2. Chapter 2

**MICHELLE**

 

Her parents had been planning this exchange program for her since she entered middle school. They said it would brighten her horizons, as they forced her to take French through a private tutor, effectively giving up her Sunday mornings. They said it would look good on her college applications. And, what else besides that really mattered?

 

That didn’t mean Michelle wasn’t excited; her skin was crawling in anticipation. Six months without her parents, six months without her horrid schoolmates-- no matter where she went, she was going to have a good time. But, of all places, she was going to Paris. It might’ve just been her parents hammering the idea into her brain, but Michelle loved the city. She wanted to know if the pictures did it justice.

 

She thought Peter was really nice; not at all punctual, which gave her a bad impression of him. She was nervous that he was going to show up and be an asshole, and when she saw him making out with that girl, in front of God and everyone, it made her even more unsettled. However, Peter was the opposite of an asshole. He made Michelle laugh when she felt like her insides were going to explode, and let her use him as a head rest. She probably drooled all over him, and he didn’t seem to care.

 

So, Peter was really sweet. She was looking forward to becoming friends with him.

 

Michelle was still asleep when the plane was about to descend. With his hand on her shoulder, he gently shook her awake. “Michelle, it’s time to get up. We’re here.”

 

She groggily opened her eyes. She felt like her body had been folded up like a lawn chair, and like her limbs at atrophied. “Really?” Michelle yawned, and stretched her arm out to open the shade. To her dismay, they weren’t even below the clouds. “You jerk,” she muttered, crashing back into her seat.

 

Michelle hated flying. Her fear developed more when, on a flight to Hawaii, the turbulence was so bad that the suitcases fell out of the overhead compartment, and one of the heavier bags fell right onto her mother’s toe. When Michelle watched  _ Lost _ , she had nightmares for weeks. And she couldn’t help but think about plane crashes whenever she’s up in the air.

 

“We’re  _ almost _ there. You just need to be awake for touchdown.” She brought her phone out of the pocket it was in; it was about one in the morning back in New York City. Her parents would not be sending any texts that wished her a safe arrival-- not that she was expecting any.

 

“Did you know that most crashes happen during take off and in landing?” she asked.

 

“Uh… no. No I didn’t.” Peter gulped. His brown hair had become untamed during their time in the air, his curls almost as abundant as her own. 

 

“Well, they do. Let’s just hope for a safe landing.”

 

The flight attended made an announcement over the PA, first in French. “ _ Greeting passengers, we will now begin our descent into the Charles de Gaulle Airport. Please make sure your trays are up right, and your chairs are in the seated position. _ ” Then, Michelle heard her say something about leaping off the aircraft. Leaping was probably the wrong word-- she wasn’t fluent, or anything.

 

“Do you know what she’s saying?” Peter whispered.

 

“They’ll announce it in English in a second. So you really don’t know any French?” He shook his head, and Michelle let out a light laugh. “How are you going to get around?”

 

“Well… I was hoping you’d, you know, always be next to me. And, if it means anything, I know Italian.”

 

“But we’re not going to Italy.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Does this mean you’ll translate for me at all times?” he tried confirming.

 

Michelle scoffed. “That is not what I said! But, I’m not about to roam a foreign city by myself  _ so _ … Guess you’re in luck.”

 

As the English version of the stewardess’s speech came to a close, Peter gave Michelle a, quite charming, and absolutely glowing, smile. Objectively, he was kind of adorable. And not at all the type Michelle would ever go for, not in a million years-- his girlfriend could rest easy another night.

 

When the plane did start to lower itself, she braced herself by grabbing onto Peter’s hand. He kept trying to distract her by pointing this out in the window. “Holy shit, is that the Eiffel Tower? Oh, no. It’s just a crane. Hey, that building looks pretty sick. I wonder how many people are below us.”

 

If Peter wanted to, he could talk, and talk, and talk. And, thankfully, it eased her immensely. She was laughing at his dumb jokes instead of thinking of the way the plane shook, and how the wheels buckled when they touched the ground.

 

“Let’s try getting off, like, now,” Peter eagerly said. “I have to pee  _ so bad _ .”

 

He unbuckled his seat belt, and dove his hands underneath the seat in front of him to pull out his backpack. He, also, picked up Michelle’s for her, as she undid her own seat belt. Ms. Richards, on the other hand, wasn’t moving. “We have to wait for the people in front,” she said, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. “Or else we’ll be standing for a long, long time.”

 

Peter buried his fist into his seat cushion. Defeated, they both took their phones off of airplane mode. Michelle had a text from her best friend, Gwen, and a few notifications from a group chat, that ranged from, “Have a safe flight, MJ! We’ll miss you!” to “I think she should’ve gone to Greece, but that’s just my opinion.” And, no texts from her parents. Of course; she had been telling herself that they wouldn’t say anything, and yet, her hopes had been too high.

 

Michelle texted Gwen back, who had sent a long paragraph about how much she’ll miss her and how much she loves her. ‘ _ Just landed _ ,’ her text back read, ‘ _ Call me when you wake up. I’ll probably have a lot to tell you by them! Love you _ .’ When she glanced back at Peter, he was going through text after text, replying with one or two word responses. He… he was  _ popular _ ?

 

Then, he got to the messages from his girlfriend. Michelle could read  _ Liz _ , with a little heart next to it, displayed on the top. She had sent a million texts-- literally, a million. Michelle didn’t have to read any of them to know that it would nauseate her. “Wow,” she let out. “She’s a little--”

 

“Liz is just passionate,” Peter excused. “I love how passionate she is.”

 

“ _ Mhm _ , I’m sure you are.” She would’ve winked, but, Michelle was really bad at winking.

 

He gasped, repressing a growing smile. Just as he began to talk again, Ms. Richards stood up, and walked into the isle. “Come on. Follow me,” she demanded. 

 

Michelle shot out of her seat, and Peter was close behind her. Effortlessly, they walked down the forty rows of seats. At the exit of the plane, stood one of the flight attendants. She said goodbye to all of the passengers in a heavy French accent. “Au revoir,” Michelle said to her. The flight attendant seemed ecstatic to hear her own language, and said it back with delight.

 

Peter copied Michelle’s words. “Uh, a-au revoir,” he stuttered. His French, even when copying, sounded terrible. “Why are you laughing?” he asked Michelle.

 

“I should teach you basic French, at the very least,” she said. She was trying to keep up with Ms. Richards’ long strides, and was failing miserably.

 

“And then I could teach you Italian!” Peter rejoiced. “That’d be pretty sweet, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Very sweet.” If Michelle came back with a basic understanding of Italian, her parents would’ve died happily. Third languages were the way to their cold hearts.

 

The Paris airport was nothing special. It was just like the airport in New York, which was just like every other airport in the world. The only difference was the French being spoken over the PA system, which was followed up immediately by English. She needed to be  _ outside _ the airport. But first, they had to wait at the luggage carousel.

 

Michelle had one suitcase, and so did Peter. However, she felt like she didn’t pack enough. Her mom said she would wire her some money if she needed more clothes, but how would she take it all home? It was ridiculous to already be thinking about something that was six months away but, as Michelle kept her eyes peered for her vibrant yellow suitcase, that’s what she was occupied with.

 

Peter grabbed her luggage for her, and then they had to wait a few more minutes for his. His suitcase was a bit smaller than her’s, and it was brown leather, in color and texture. Not at all fun, like Michelle’s was. When Peter set it down on the ground so he could take his sweatshirt off, though, she noticed the initials carved into the handle.  _ B.F.P _

 

“What does that stand for?” she asked. Prying into his life, yet again. 

 

“Oh, uh-- I’ll tell you later.” 

 

That made her want to know even more. However, she kept her mouth shut, deciding she had done enough eavesdropping that morning.

 

The car ride into Paris was thirty minutes long. Ms. Richards drove, and refused to let the two teenagers sit in the front. So, the entire way into the city, she looked out the window. Just like Peter had been overly fascinated by some clouds, Michelle was absolutely captivated by the architecture. She wanted to bust out her sketchbook and start to draw immediately, but she wanted to observe the streets more.

 

Peter, at some point, had dug out a camera. One of the cameras parents take to soccer games, to get high definition shots of their kids whiffing at the ball. She turned around when she heard a clicking noise, to find that Peter had the camera aimed at her. “Just keep doing what you were doing. Oh! Or smile at me. Just for a second.”

 

“Are you kidding?” Michelle asked. “No-- Peter, put it  _ down _ . I look like a mess.”

 

“Fine. Can’t have you hogging up my memory space, anyways,” he joked. Peter turned his camera off, and returned to looking out his own window.

 

Their host family lived, technically, in Bagnolet, not Paris. However if you stood right outside their door and threw a rock, it would’ve landed in the city. As they pulled up to their new home, Michelle’s breath hitched. It was here. It was really here. Paris was right down the road; her life, her  _ freedom _ was in her own hands. She couldn’t wait to meet her host family so she could start exploring.

 

When Ms. Richards knocked, a stout older man answered the door. His hair had grayed completely, and he wore his glasses not on his face, but clipped onto his scoop-necked sweater. “ _ They’re here! _ ” he said, in French. “Come in, come in.”

 

Their home was, well,  _ homey _ . Warm colors covered the walls and family pictures decorated it. It was a compacted living room, with a TV on your right as soon as you walked in and a leather couch facing it. But, it seemed like enough space to walk around in. There were stairs to your left, and waiting at the top, must’ve been the man’s wife. 

 

She dyed her hair back to its original black, and you could tell because she needed a touch up. Nevertheless, she had a comforting smile. She was tall and slender, and was beautiful, wrinkles and all. “Bienvenue!” she cheered. “Welcome! We are so excited to have you two!”

 

“I’m Norman Osborn, and this is Emily,” said the man. He held his hand out for them to shake, which Peter pounced on.

 

“I’m Peter Parker,” he returned. “And thank you for letting me stay in your home.”

 

Emily tsked. “It’s our pleasure, really. And you must be Michelle.”

 

Michelle, who was peering her head around the corner to see what the kitchen looked like, snapped out of it. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m Michelle Jones. Thank you, as well.”

 

They all said their niceties--“Nice to meet you, Norman.” “You, too, Michelle. Hope your flight went well.”--and they ventured further into the home. Emily invited them to sit on the couch, so, that’s what they did. Peter next to Michelle, and Emily and Norman took a seat on the coffee table. On the  _ coffee table _ . Her parents’ would never.

 

At that point, Ms. Richards interrupted. She handed a little cue card to both teenagers, saying, “If you two need anything, call me. And if I call,  _ answer _ .” Then, she said her goodbyes, and left

 

Peter leaned over to whisper in Michelle’s ear, “The wicked witch is gone.”

 

“Shut up,” she giggled, pushing his shoulder and making him crash into the arm rest. She didn’t think Ms. Richards was that bad; she was just intense.

 

But, they no longer had to worry about her. Until she called, of course.

 

Norman and Emily laid down rules. They were the same as the ones Ms. Richards had given them back in JFK Airport-- be home by ten, no drinking or drugs, you have to attend school, and you have to tell them where you’re going, at all times. “We have to be extra careful,” Emily said. “Could you imagine how stressful it is to be responsible for other people’s kids? When Harry studied abroad, I almost went  _ ballistic _ when I called their house one night and they said they didn’t know where he was.”

 

“I’m sorry, who is Harry?” Peter asked.

 

“Our son,” Norman chimed in. “He’s your age, and Peter, you’ll be sharing a room with him. He was the one who asked us to do this, in the first place. He’s with friends right now, but he’ll be back later.”

 

“That sounds great. Can’t wait to meet him,” Michelle spoke, rushing their conversation. She kept looking out the window, but her view was disrupted by Norman’s head. “Could we go into the city now?”

 

Emily chuckled. “You’re in a hurry, huh? I don’t see why not. Let’s just get you settled into your rooms first and exchange numbers, and then we can show you around.”

 

_ They _ can show them around? She wanted to go by herself,  _ maybe  _ have Peter tag along. Norman saw the disappointment on Michelle’s face, because to his wife, he said, “They could probably find their way, right? Those silly phones have everything they need. And they’re pretty strong looking; especially Michelle. Didn’t you do boxing or something?”

 

“I did karate until the eighth grade.”

 

“ _ Ooh _ , karate. You’ll have to teach me some moves. Millie, I think they’re more than capable.”

 

Emily straightened her posture, surveying the two teenagers. They were both built the same; thin frames and skinny arms. Peter might have been keeping something a secrete, under that huge, baggy shirt-- but if you saw him walking down the street, it didn’t look like he could’ve hurt even a fly. Michelle, at least, remembered some of her karate lessons. “I guess,” Emily sighed. “But, we are all going out to dinner tonight. It’ll be fun, so you have to make it back here by four.”

 

“Four. Got it,” Michelle eagerly agreed. “Can we go see our rooms now?”

 

Emily laughed. “Americans are always  _ go, go, go _ .” She got up and lingered to the stairs. “Well? Come on.”

 

She liked Norman and Emily. They seemed like the parents who cared if their children liked them or not.

 

Michelle’s room was at the end of the hall, and Peter’s was one door down. Her room wasn’t very big, only large enough to fit a bed, dresser, and if she put her back against the bed and stuck her legs out to touch the wall, they’d be bent at a ninety degree angle. It didn’t matter-- she wouldn’t be spending much time here anyways.

 

Quickly, Michelle changed out of her airport clothes, and put on a pair of shorts, and a plain white shirt. They were the first things she grabbed, then she grabbed her phone and waited in the hallway for Peter to exit his room.

 

He had changed, too. His shirt was tighter and-- okay, maybe he did have muscles, not that Michelle was looking--and he was wearing  _ khaki _ shorts. “Are you serious?” she said. “You dress like my dad.”

 

“And you… you dress like you have no personality,” Peter tried combating. He tightened his backpack straps, and clutched one of them tightly.

 

“Nice one, Pete. Come on, let’s go. I’m dying to get out there.” Michelle grabbed his wrist, and started tugging them down the stairs. “Bye, Norman! Bye, Emily! We’ll be back.”

 

They took the subway--or the metro--to the Eiffel Tower using the cards Norman and Emily bought them. Where else would they go first? They had to switch trains a few times, but eventually, they boarded one that took them straight to their destination. It was just like how Michelle used to get around New York.

 

Peter had his camera hanging around his neck. He kept snapping random shots, like of the graffiti on the walls or of the advertisements they saw. And, he kept trying to get pictures of Michelle. “I’ll seriously break that thing,” she threatened.

 

“With what? Your karate skills?”

 

“I’ll have you know that my karate skills are very honed, and if I could kick ass when I was fourteen, then I can surely do it to a silly little camera.” The train doors opened, and a swarm of people exited with them.

 

“You break it, and you buy me a new one.” They ran up the stairs, and were soon met with the blue Parisian sky, and the fresh Parisian air.

 

Michelle’s face lit up. It maybe acted like New York, with people on the move at all times, and so crowded, but it looked different. The buildings were older, and gave off an unfamiliar feeling to Michelle. And, when she looked to her right, there it was: the famous tower.

 

Again, she grabbed onto Peter’s wrist, and jerked him to walk closer. The lawns in front of the tower was a gorgeous green, and groups of people were sitting in scattered areas. “Could you imagine living here? And texting your friends to meet up by saying, ‘ _ Meet me at the Eiffel Tower _ ’?”

 

“That’s us now, Michelle. Are you sure you don’t want  _ any _ pictures? I’m taking this for the both of us. One picture. Just  _ one _ . And in sixty years when you’re an old woman you can show it to people who don’t care.” Peter held his camera to his chest, and pleaded more with his eyes.

 

Her hair was an absolute mess, and no matter how long she had slept on the flight, she had still been on it for seven straight hours. She knew she didn’t look good. “Fine,” Michelle caved anyways. “Make me look good.”

 

She combed her fingers through her hair, and then wrapped her thumbs around the belt loops of her shorts. Peter’s camera clicked, and again, and Michelle started doing different poses. He started egging her on, “See! I knew you loved it.” She thought he was done when he took his bag off, and started to dig in it. Instead, Peter pulled out another camera-- a Polaroid one.

 

“How many do you  _ have _ ?” Michelle asked, her eyebrows furrowing.

 

“That’s for me and me only to know. Now this is expensive, so I’m only taking one.”

 

“I never agreed to this!” she debated. “Peter. Peter, put the camera down.”

 

“No way. You look good, Michelle. Now  _ smile _ .”

 

Instinctively, after being fed a compliment, her face flushed and she couldn’t contain her timid, shy grin that developed. Michelle was still reeling when the Polaroid camera flashed, and out came her picture. 

 

She rushed to Peter’s side to watch it develop. “We have to wait a few minutes,” Peter instructed. He placed it in his bag, mumbling something about it needing to be in a dark environment. 

 

“Do you want me to take a picture or two of you?” Michelle offered. She was already peeling his camera—the one he had originally had in the car—off of his neck.

 

Peter gaped at her, like no one had ever asked him if he had ever wanted that before. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, that’d be great. Just be careful with the—”

 

“I got it, Pete. Go stand over there.”

 

He did. He wiped his hands on his pants excitedly, then placed them on his hips and stood in a power pose. It made Michelle laugh; she took a burst of photos before, eventually, Peter smiled widely at the camera, and put his two thumbs up. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I hate posing.”

 

She shrugged. It didn’t really matter to her, since she wasn’t taking these home. Her pinky finger brushed over something that had been engraved on the side— and as she looked to see what it was, it was the same set of letters she saw on Peter’s suitcase.  _ B.F.P _

 

Michelle really wanted to know what those letters meant. They started walking again, around the tower and down a cobblestone road, and she reminded herself that Peter had explicitly said, ‘ _ I’ll tell you later _ .’ She didn’t feel like waiting until later, though. And it wouldn’t hurt to ask once more, right?

 

“Peter?” she started. “What did those letters on your suitcase mean?”

 

He pursed his lips together, and shoved one hand into his pocket. The other one scratched the back of his neck. “It used to be my uncle’s. He and my aunt— they raised me, and they’re both really important to me. A few years ago he, you know, and I’ve inherited a few of his things.”

 

“Peter—” Michelle’s voice hoarse whispered. Like always, she should’ve kept her mouth shut.

 

“No, no, it’s fine. It was years ago. And now it’s just me and my aunt. She’s the only family I have and I’m gonna miss her so,  _ so  _ much, and— And you didn’t ask.” Peter rolled his eyes at himself. He shook his head when he looked back up, there was a sad smile spread across his face. “Where to now, Michelle?”

 

It was crazy, but she had this feeling in the pit of her stomach. Not one of pining or lust, but of comfort. Of safety. She didn’t really  _ make _ friends— she probably had two, Betty and Gwen, and at times, she was still on edge around them. The rest of the people she talked to, her acquaintances, where purely so she wouldn’t be so lonely at school. With Peter, things were different. Maybe it was fact that they were kind of being forced to be friends. Maybe it was how he was the only person Michelle somewhat knew in this foreign land. Or, maybe she just found him funny, and sweet, and how he made even silences feel like an invigorating occasion. 

 

She liked Peter, and at the time it might’ve been her pity increasing that, but Michelle still meant what she was about to say. 

 

“Let’s get some lunch. And stop being so damn formal. You  _ know _ my friends call me MJ.”

 

Peter’s face lit up. “Alright, MJ. Let’s get some lunch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tsym for reading! i'm so in love with this story, you guys don't even know. anyways i hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	3. Chapter 3

**PETER**

 

“I miss you,” Liz purred. Peter was laying down on his compacted twin bed, staring up at the ceiling, and was lost in his thoughts. He wondered what he was having for dinner; he pondered on what Michelle meant that day at school when she said, ‘ _ Can everyone just leave me alone? _ ’ Did she mean him, as well? Did she— “Did you  _ hear _ me? I miss you, baby.”

 

“I miss you, too, Liz.” Every night for two weeks, she had been telling him that. He knew she yearned for him-- yearned for his touch, for his validation, for other, more secretive things that she’d just blurt out. Peter learned to only answer his phone when he was alone, in a private room; one night his volume was way too high and Harry had overheard Liz’s private comments, and he had yet to stop making fun of Peter for what she had said.

 

“May misses you, too, you know. I went over to your apartment after school and she looked so sad and lonely… I just don’t get why you had to go, Peter.”

 

Peter cursed himself. This conversation,  _ again _ . He just wanted to talk to his girlfriend about how amazing Paris was, and how the last two weeks had been the best of his life. He wanted Liz to be happy about it. He wanted Liz to support him. And yet… “I told you. This is just for me to expand my worldview. I mean, that’s important, right?”   
  
“Sure, yeah. But you could’ve gone on vacation, or something. With me. I’d bet my parents would’ve paid for your ticket to Hawaii for spring break. You, me, on a beautiful beach in Hawaii. Would’ve been better than Paris,” she murmured. “School just isn’t the same without you. And I think May has been eating take out, every single night, and she was wearing one of your sweatshirts. You should call her.”

 

“I  _ do _ ,” Peter hissed. 

 

“I was just saying, you should. Anyways… how was your day? How’s  _ MJ _ ?” Liz said Michelle’s name as if she was a piece of gum stuck to her shoe.   
  
“Why do you say it like that? There’s no reason for you  _ not _ to like her. And, she’s great, I think. And, today we were going to go to the Arc de Triomphe, but--”

 

Liz cut him off. “Baby, I’ve gotta go to class. I love you, and miss you. And I’m counting down the days until I get to see you again. And call your aunt. And call me before you go to bed.”

 

She hung up, without even giving him a chance to say goodbye. Peter threw his phone onto his pillow. Was May really only eating takeout? When he called her the day before, she told him that she was trying out some new recipes, and when he asked how she was doing, May swore up and down that she had been fantastic. Going to yoga, going out with friends-- whatever a healthy adult did. But, if what Liz said was true, May had been lying. 

 

Peter didn’t want to think about his aunt wrapped up in his blanket, looking through family photo albums, being sad and alone in her two bedroom apartment.

 

Now he was thinking about it. And he was thinking about Liz, as well, being all alone at school. Sure, she had friends, but Liz said that she always felt so isolated when Peter wasn’t around. She said that being with Peter made even the terrible things brighter. May and Liz were now all alone, because he had been selfish.

 

His back collided with the mattress. His palms pressed into his eyelids, the darkness overtaking him as he fought down the urge to scream. Two weeks-- two weeks of prancing around France, and suddenly, everything felt wrong.

 

There was a knock on his door. Peter let out a loud hum, and the person entered the room. It was Michelle; she entered the room, closing the door behind her. Her face was knitted in concern, her hands twirling around each other, like they did on the first day of school when she was nervous. “So, how’s Liz?” she asked.

 

“Same as always, I guess,” Peter answered, his voice distant.

 

“Well, that’s good. So… Harry wants us to go to Felicia’s house tonight. Ned and Johnny will be there, too, so it’ll be this small… thing. I don’t know. It might be weird, and you know them better than I do, so…” Michelle stared at her toes, probably sensing Peter’s cold attitude.

 

“We can go,” he said. “Yeah, it’ll be fun.”

 

Michelle’s head perked up, and one of her hands settled on the desk next to her. She knocked over a photo; when she kneeled on the ground to get it, she let out a laugh. “I thought  _ I _ was supposed to get this picture.” It was the Polaroid he had taken of her the day they arrived-- a picture Peter, for some reason, had no intentions of parting with.

 

“Do you want it?” he asked.

 

She shrugged, her smile sly on her lips. “No, we can just take another one soon. Now let’s go, before Norman and Emily change their minds.”

 

Peter pushed himself up, and he leaped forward to open the door for Michelle. She smiled politely, then stood on the other side and held it for him. They were friends, but hadn’t gotten any closer since he had spilled his guts about Ben. They talked of surface level things-- Michelle talked about her writing and sketching, Peter talked about his photography, and they both yelled about school at each other. It made him worried; maybe he scared her off by discussing his dead uncle. If Michelle would ever stop talking to him, Peter would be the loneliest guy in the city.

 

Harry and his friends were really cool. But, there was something  _ missing _ . Peter couldn’t tell what, exactly; he just knew that if Michelle wasn’t there, he would feel like a sore thumb, and that nobody wanted him around.

 

They walked to Felicia’s house, Harry several feet ahead of them, and Peter and Michelle keeping the same stride. It was almost dark out; the sunset making Michelle’s skin glow, and amplifying Peter’s feelings. She would look over at him and grin every so often, and his stomach would turn into knots. If he was back home, he’d be with Liz. If he was back home, he could be preparing dinner for May. If he was back home--

 

“Pete,” Michelle’s words rang in his ears. “We could take a walk around the block instead of going inside.”

 

“A walk?” he tried to jokingly mock. “Only losers go on leisurely walks.”

 

She nodded, her gaze still soaked in concern.

 

When they walked in, Felicia was on the table. She was singing a song, using her hairbrush as a microphone. Her heavy French accent made her trip over some of the English words, but every time she did, she acted like it was on purpose. Johnny, also French-born, was sitting on the couch and cheering her on. Ned, who moved to France from Nebraska when he was seven, was pouring himself a Coke.

 

“MJ!” Felicia cheered once she saw them. “Tu es ici!” She hopped off the table and sweeped Michelle into a hug.

 

“What are we?” Harry laughed, offended. “Dead meat?”

 

“Oui. Rotting, dead meat.”

 

Felicia turned down the music, and they all sat down on the couch. Harry, whose mission was to make Peter and Michelle feel as comfortable as possible, got them drinks. For a while, Peter felt good. He was socializing, remembering how much he loved meeting new people, when out of the blue, he was hit with a wave of disconnect.   
  
His jaw clamped shut. They then started to speak only in French, and the only person who tried to bring them back to English so Peter could be involved was Michelle. He didn’t want them to  _ have _ to do anything-- he was the one visiting their country, the one who came here not knowing the language. It did, however, make him feel worse. Peter should’ve forked up the two hundred dollars it would’ve taken to take online French courses.

 

Michelle nudged Peter’s foot with her own. “What’re you thinking about?” she asked.   
  
“Nothing,” he shortly answered.

 

She frowned, staring at him for all too long. She turned to Felicia and asked her something in French, which prompted the hostess to get up from her chair and disappear into the kitchen for a moment.

 

Peter slumped into the couch and closed his eyes, so he hadn’t noticed when Felicia came back. He did notice, though, the persistent vibrations against his thigh. He pulled his phone out to see a text from May. ‘ _ Look what I found! _ ’ it read. ‘ _ It made me think of you, and it’ll be hanging in your room for when you get back. _ ’ She attached an image of a visually beautiful, old Star Wars poster. 

 

His chest constricted, and his heart sank. “Where’s the bathroom?” he asked Felicia.

 

“Walk into the kitchen and take a right.” She went back to talking to Ned, almost yelling.

 

So, Peter walked into the kitchen, and took a right. There was a wooden door in front of him, but also, a sliding glass door to his side. Fresh air sounded better than the stuffy bathroom.

 

Trying to make the least noise possible, he opened it just enough for him to stick his body through, and closed it after he had left. Peter sat down on the porch steps; it had gotten much darker than when they had arrived, and the stars were out. He looked up, and took a myriad of deep breaths.

 

He wasn’t going to survive two more weeks of this, let alone five and a half more months. Peter felt so alone, for probably the first time in his life. There had always been people around him who loved him deeply-- first, his parents, then his aunt and uncle, then Liz. He could always take a simple ride on the subway, and he’d soon find himself in the arms of someone who loved him.

 

No longer was than an option. Nobody in France cared about him, at least not to the extent he was used to.

 

“It’s hot out here,” said Michelle, sneaking up on him and making him jump. “I’m already sweating.”

 

She took a seat next to him, their shoulders pressing together. Without looking at Peter, she stuck a piece of paper into his face. Hesitantly, he took it from her. “What is this?” he asked. He turned on the flashlight on his phone, shining it on the paper.

 

It was him. A  _ drawing _ of him-- with his eyes closed, his face harboring a permanent smile. Peter’s curls were accurately abundant, as was the subtle scar on his cheek and the three freckles on his nose. Michelle added a little thought bubble. “I didn’t know what to put there,” she explained. “So I just put a baguette. You eat bread like it’s your life force.”

 

“MJ…” Peter’s voice trailed off. He was stunned; nobody had ever drawn him before.

 

“I was bored, so it’s no big deal. They were talking about this girl that Felicia’s got a crush on, and everybody has different opinions on her, and we’ve never met her so-- Yeah, I was bored.” Michelle rocked her heel back and forth before asking, “What’re you doing out here?”

 

“Just looking at the stars. They look the same as the ones back home,” he said.

 

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

 

“Yeah. It’s a good thing.” Just like that, Peter knew that Michelle understood how he was feeling. She didn’t try to pry, though; they just sat there in silence, basking in the other’s company, and he greatly appreciated it. He didn’t want to talk about how his heart ached for one of May’s homemade facemasks. “My uncle used to take me camping. We’d drive for hours and hours, and we’d get to this really secluded spot where you could see every single star in the universe. He’d try to point out constellations, but could never find any, so he made up his own.”

 

Michelle chuckled. “That’s sweet,” she smiled. “Wanna show me some?”

 

“Probably won’t be able to find any. But we could make up some.”

 

She nodded, and rested her head onto Peter’s shoulder. They came up with eight constellations, and it took close to thirty minutes. They kept bantering over the names, which took longer than anything else. He was adamant to name one after Cassian Andor from Rogue One, but Michelle would reject it every single time. However, the closeness, and the laughter, and the familiarity had warmed Peter’s core. With Michelle by his side, he felt fantastic.

 

“Hey, Peter?” They had gotten bored of pointing out stars, so they had reverted back to silence. “I think you’re a pretty great photographer.”

 

“Oh-- I-- Thank you, MJ.”   
  
“So, with that being said, you need to take more pictures of me. My mom keeps telling me it’s almost like I’m not even here, because she’s been expecting an influx of photos.” 

 

“I  _ need _ to?” Peter exaggerated. “ _ Need _ to?”

 

Michelle nodded, beaming, her eyes crinkling. “Yes,  _ need _ to. I’ve taught you some French--”

 

“You have not!”

 

“I’ve  _ tried _ , and I just drew you a picture. I don’t just draw pictures of people willy nilly. You should feel special, Pete. And you should feel indebted to me,” she teased. “But, if you don’t want to…” She reached out to steal the paper from Peter’s hand, but he yanked it out of her grasp before she could get her fingers on it.

 

“No way, I’m keeping this. Gonna frame it and everything. And, of course I’ll take pictures of you. But because I  _ want _ to. You should feel pretty special, MJ. Because I don’t just take pictures of people willy nilly.”

 

Michelle relaxed, her hand retreating to place a strand of hair behind her ear. Slightly, her head nodded, and slightly, she bit her lip, and  _ slightly _ , her eyes trailed over Peter’s face. “Yeah,” she whispered, “I do feel special.”

 

It made Peter’s breath hitch.

 

“Are you tired?” she suddenly spoke, much louder than before. “Let’s go back home. We have school tomorrow.”

 

She stood up, and extended her hand out for Peter to take. When he did, she pulled him to his feet. “Yeah, I’m exhausted, anyways.”

 

They quickly told Harry and, when he said that he would rather stay, it wasn’t a big deal to either of them; they could easily find their way back. And, if they got a little lost, it would be manageable. So, they left Felicia’s house, and began the ten minute walk to the Osborn home.

 

“I haven’t talked to anyone about that star thing in years,” Peter told Michelle. Stupidly, to live a little on the edge, they were walking in the middle of the road. Nobody really drove cars, anyways. “I don’t know why, it’s kinda stupid, but--”

 

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she interrupted. “You bonded with your uncle because of it. And doing it made you feel better, right?” Peter nodded. “Then it isn’t stupid. It’s sweet.”

 

She said it bluntly, like she’d launch into an argument with anyone who disagreed. He hated comparing her to Liz, because it made him feel disgusting and wrong, but Liz wouldn’t have understood. When Peter talked about his uncle, she never understood. Her experience with loss was sparse, and would try to compare it to losing her dog when she was six. So, not enjoying having his uncle, his idol, being compared to a dog, Peter stopped bringing Ben up.

 

Michelle wasn’t trying to compare, or undermine how he felt. And he couldn’t describe how fantastic it made him feel.

 

“Thanks, MJ. And, you know, I was fine, I just needed fresh air.”

 

She shook her head dismissively, and even in the dark, he knew she was rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to lie, Pete. You can still enjoy Paris even though you’re homesick.”

 

“Who said anything about being--”

 

“After your conversation with Liz, you were upset. You miss her, and you miss your aunt and-- and your uncle. And yeah, maybe you miss him all the time, I wouldn’t know, but being away from home amplifies it, right?” When Peter was quiet for too long, Michelle winced, and she began to stammer. “I take one psych class and I think I’m a psychologist. I’ll-- I’ll stop talking.” 

 

“No, no, you’re right. I just-- It’s weird to talk about him. There’s no one who really understands, and I don’t talk about him with May, so… I don’t know. But, yeah, you’re right.” They turned a corner, and hopefully it was the right one-- Peter could feel a lump forming in his throat.

 

“Oh,” Michelle let out, like she was surprised. “I might not understand, exactly, but I’m a good listener. If you ever wanted to talk--”

 

“I’d rather not,” he interrupted.

 

“Of course. But I’m just saying, if you wanted to, you know where I live.” She lowered her head, and stuck her hands into her pockets. The lump in his throat grew; she was just trying to be helpful.

 

Hesitantly, Peter placed his hand on her shoulder. They stopped walking, instead turning to face each other, Michelle’s eyes wide with concern. “Maybe later, we’ll talk about it. Just-- not now. It means a lot, though.”

 

“Yeah, I get it. We’re still strangers, and I’ve pushed enough information out of you. Whenever you’re ready.” She turned to continue walking, but Peter stopped her.

 

“That’s not true. Only close friends get to do the constellation thing with me.”

 

And the way Michelle smiled-- not even the brightest star in the sky could compete. 

 

“You’re such a loser,” she laughed. “Let’s go home so I won’t have to spend anymore time with you.”

 

When they got home, though, Michelle sat at the foot of his bed for close to an hour. She was looking through his camera, and was helping him decide which pictures sucked, and which pictures didn’t. 

 

Yeah, they were friends. And, if you wanted to get specific, she was his best friend in Paris.

 

Maybe, she was his best friend, period. Maybe, it was too soon to say. And if it was, then Peter could sense that she  _ would _ be his best friend, with time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love this story so much, so i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i do writing it!! tysm for reading <3


	4. Chapter 4

**MICHELLE**

 

“ _ Je suis fatigué _ .”

 

“You said it wrong. Again.”

 

“MJ, I am trying to apply our French lessons into my everyday life-- you should be proud. And besides, you know what I meant. I’m  _ tired _ .”

 

She was weaving through groups of people, her hand clamped down on Peter’s wrist, and the only thing weighing her down was her backpack. They had come straight from school, something Peter was, obviously, displeased about.

 

Her excited buzz from the beginning of the school year had died when September did. It was October first, and everything was getting colder, greyer, and all around  _ sadder _ . Paris was starting to feel like just another city; Michelle knew certain streets like the back of her hand, so the sense of novelty had worn off. The kids at school were just like the kids back home-- rude for no reason, and the only thing different was that they were mean in  _ French _ . And her homework actually challenged her. She spent close to an hour on it, per subject, and it hardly felt like a dent.

 

Peter was even beginning to care less and less. He left his camera at home most days, whereas in September, he’d carry it around everywhere. He’d dismiss this as being homesick, and it was a valid excuse for him. Every day he was in Paris, he felt more and more guilty. That’s what he told Michelle, at least. He’d rant to her about being a terrible boyfriend and nephew, because he abandoned them when they needed him. (No more mentions of his uncle, though. But, some nights, they’d go into the yard and make up more constellations.)

 

Paris was something Michelle had been looking forward to her whole life. And she was stuck doing homework indoors, only leaving the house when Peter wanted to see a movie. And even then, they went to the same theater, every time.

 

Michelle, while sitting in literature class bored out of her mind, had suddenly remembered that her mom had told her about this bookstore-- Shakespeare & Company. “It’s where your grandparents met,” she had said. Michelle liked books, and she was tired of the monotony of her life, and if this bookstore had really helped in her conception-- then it was worth a visit.

 

Peter didn’t think so. He, has he had stated a hundred times, was tired. He was exhausted. He was  _ très fatigué _ . He went to bed at one in the morning, because he was on the phone with Liz. Michelle had heard a part of their conversation before she passed out. “No, Liz...  _ No _ . I swear to God, I’m not-- Can we not do this right now? I just want to talk to my girlfriend. Who I love, by the way...  _ Liz _ .”

 

Some days, Michelle wanted to steal his phone from him, and throw it out the window. She wanted to knock some sense into him. Liz wasn’t  _ supportive _ , no matter how many times Peter swore she was. She was the reason he was so bogged down, and why Paris wasn’t all that enjoyable anymore, even if he won’t admit it.

 

Michelle was going to keep her mouth shut, though. She had never talked to Liz, and probably never would; overtime, the anger in the pit of her stomach would fade,  _ or _ , Peter would come to his senses. Which ever suited him. (She knew which one she wanted more, though.)

 

“How cool. A bookstore. We don’t have any of these in New York,” Peter said, his voice flat. They were standing right outside its doors, and peering inside, Michelle only got a glimpse of how busy it was. It wasn’t packed, but for its small size, she could see how someone would feel trapped.

 

“Shut up, Pete. We’ll go in, I’ll find a book, and then we can go home. Does that sound good?” She wasn’t going to tell him how long it took for her to pick a book she liked. Michelle would grab a pile that sounded interesting, and would narrow it down to a final five, and then her selection process got even more intense and grueling. Peter, tired, exhausted,  _ très fatigué  _ Peter, didn’t need to know that.

 

Especially not when a smile graced his face. It was small, almost microscopic, but it was certainly there. It was the first time Michelle had seen him smile all day.

 

They entered the shop. Looking through the window was deceiving; it was even smaller inside. Michelle reached for Peter’s wrist and tugged him close to her so she wouldn’t lose him. They walked to the nearest shelf-- it wasn’t organized by anything specific. How was she going to find a book she wanted like this?

 

“Did you bring your camera today?” Michelle asked. She pursed her lips together as she surveyed the massive wall of books in front of her. Her hand twirled in the air and then she stuck it straight out, and pulled out the binding it landed on. 

 

“Yep. I got it. What book did you get?”

 

“ _ The Second Sex _ .” Michelle tucked it under her arm, remembering hearing about it somewhere before. “My mom would probably want some pictures of me in here. Do you mind, Pete?”

 

His brain, slow as ever, took a moment to process. When realization struck him, he let out a dumbfounded gasp and swung his backpack to his front. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He pulled the camera out swiftly. “Why do you think she’d want pictures?”

 

“Well, supposedly, my grandparents met here. My grandma was born here, and my grandfather was a tourist.” Michelle posed stiffly for a picture, and after hearing the click, she pretended to scour the wall.

 

Peter took another picture. “You have family here? Why haven’t you gone to meet them?”

 

“I don’t have family here, actually. My grandma was an only child.” She pulled out another book:  _ Lord of the Flies _ . Her face scrunched up and she tried shoving it back into the shelf, but not before Peter captured the disgusted look.

 

“Oh. Well, it’s cool that you’re here, where your grandparents were decades ago, meeting their soulmate. I think it’s really, really cool. So, tell me step by step how it happened. Did their eyes lock across the busy storefront?” he started to giggle. “Did they both reach for the same book? Did-- Sorry, man.” Peter had knocked into a man behind him. He took a step closer to Michelle.

 

“It’s not much of a story, Pete. My grandma wanted a book, but my grandfather got it first, and then he bought it, and gave it to her.”

 

“That is  _ so _ a story! That’s the most romantic shit I’ve ever heard.” His energy had picked up. Michelle noticed that when there was a camera in his hand, and he was discussing something he was passionate about (which in this case was romance, since he was a total hopeless romantic,) all of his stress disappeared.

 

Another book was in her palms:  _ On the Road _ . She read the back and stuck it under her arm. “I’m sure there’s a lot of better stories out there.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to say something, but then clamped it shut. His mood, yet again, had fallen, and she could tell that he was thinking about Liz.

 

They stood in the bookstore in silence for some time. He kept knocking into people and carts, and eventually, he quit. “I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

 

“Peter--” Michelle started, instantly on alert. He was going to leave her  _ alone _ ?

 

“It’s just way too cramped in here, MJ. And, I’ll be right outside the door, okay?” Peter’s hand rested on her forearm in a way to comfort her. “I promise.”

 

She nodded reluctantly. “I won’t be much longer. Promise.”

 

Her heart sank watching him walk away, and being all alone was a concept Michelle didn’t much like. So, she started speeding through the aisles, pulling out book titles that were interesting, and when she had selected ten, she read the first page of all of them. When it was down to two, she flipped a coin. “ _ Second Sex  _ it is,” she whispered to herself.

 

She purchased the book, and had to wait in a line that was at  _ least _ seven minutes long. In the meantime, she played on her phone, and ignored the annoying voice in her mind that was telling her to call Peter. If he didn’t like just standing by a shelf, he wasn’t going to like standing in line. And he shouldn’t have had to stand with her; it was Michelle’s book, and he wasn’t buying anything.

 

When Michelle escaped the confined quarters of Shakespeare & Company, she crashed out the double doors. Peter wasn’t where he had promised to be. Right next to the doors, like he had said. “Peter?” she shouted. Michelle took a few steps forward and scanned the streets for him. “Peter?” she yelled again.

 

Maybe he just went to the bathroom, she thought, wherever a bathroom was. Not wanting to freak out just yet she waited for a few minutes. Then, when a few minutes had passed, she dialed Peter’s number. It went straight to voicemail.

 

Oh, God. Where was he? Despite their lessons, Peter didn’t know any French. He couldn’t get around. He couldn’t find his way home.  _ She _ didn’t want to be all alone in a city she had just become comfortable in. 

 

Her palms were sweating, her heart racing. Michelle started to wander the area, keeping her eyes peeled. She walked around the block, and yelled his name intermittently. Peter dressed so plainly, though, and from behind, he looked like any other guy. In a crowd like this, she wasn’t going to find him.

  
Despite knowing that, Michelle looked, and looked, for hours. Yelling his name. Walking up to vendors and showing them a picture of him. She even called Harry, who had informed her, “No, he’s not here. But, my parents want you guys back for dinner. Do you want me to tell them?”

 

“No, no. Don’t. I’ll-- I’ll find him.”

 

Peter wasn’t at the Notre Dame. He wasn’t at the street market. And, after walking down that strip almost ten times, it had started to rain. Michelle could feel her chest pounding and her breathing becoming shallow; what if Peter got hurt? She couldn’t handle that. She didn’t  _ want  _ to handle that.

 

With the rain pouring down her face, Michelle called Peter again. “Peter. Answer the damn phone. I am very worried about you, and if I have to look for any longer, I’m going to think you’re dead.  _ Call. Me _ .”

 

She covered the area once more. Her feet throbbed, but she didn’t want to give up. If she came back to the house without Peter, Norman and Emily would be so upset at her-- and they never got upset, or mad, unlike Michelle’s parents. 

 

Seeing the bookstore for the hundredth time brought all the blood to her head. She wasn’t going to cry, no matter how frustrated and scared she was. God, but she really felt like breaking down and crying. There was an intense pain in her arm and feet, only one of which was explainable. And the longer she went without Peter, the more terrified Michelle was. They had never been more than a few yards away from each other ever since they landed. They had built this dependence-- and she couldn’t function without him.

 

‘ _ Come home _ ,’ Harry texted her. ‘ _ He probably got lost and decided to come back _ .’

 

In agony, Michelle bit down on her lip. The rain was pouring down faster and she was getting drenched. However, Peter was probably still out there. She couldn’t leave. Not when her heart was still pounding and her hands were shaking.

 

Harry had a point, though; she had been looking for so long, he probably just went back home.

 

So, feeling like a terrible person, she boarded the metro. Her stomach was caving in on itself, and Michelle was happy for the rain that masked her emotions. She was thinking about Peter, cold and alone and lost, and maybe, just maybe, it made her want to cry.

 

After boarding a few separate trains, Michelle was walking down the Osborn’s street. Norman and Emily were going to be so upset with her. Peter was never going to be found. It was all going to be her fault.

 

As she turned the door handle, her throat closed up. Michelle walked inside, finally sheltered from the rain, and she let herself release a single sob. “Harry?” she shouted. He came around the corner, holding a cup of pudding. “I couldn’t find him. He’s out there, all alone and lost in the rain, and--”

 

Michelle didn’t finish her sentence. She crashed into Harry’s arms, her crying more frequent. He was taller than her, and broader than he looked, and was terrible at giving hugs.

 

Was-- was he laughing?

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Peter is-- and I-- and your parents--”

 

“He’s fine, Michelle,” Harry stated. He held his arms out away from her, protecting his precious pudding cup.

 

“How do you  _ know that _ ?”

 

The upstairs bathroom door opened, and out walked  _ Peter _ . He was freshly showered, rubbing his hair with a towel. “MJ,” he gulped. He threw the towel over his shoulder and made his way down the stairs. “I-- My phone died, and-- Why are you hugging Harry?”

 

Relief flooded her. She pushed herself away from Harry and prepared to launch at the other teen, however-- “How long have you been home?” Michelle demanded to know.

 

“Fifteen minutes.”

 

“Thirty,” Harry corrected. “I took his phone, though.”

 

“ _ Thirty minutes _ ?” she hissed. “You didn’t think to call me? You didn’t think that it would’ve been good information to know that you were home?”

 

“Harry took my--”

 

“I don’t give a shit what Harry did! And where the hell did you go? You promised, Peter. Do you know how long I was out there for? Hours. Looking for  _ you _ .” Michelle pushed past him, and he stumbled backwards, knocking against the railing of the stairs.

 

She walked up, and Peter followed her. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that. And then my phone died. And I should’ve just gone back to the store, but--”

 

“You’re damn right you should’ve. Do you know how worried I was?”

 

“Probably as worried as I was about you.”

 

That felt like a slap in the face. Peter didn’t get to be worried about her, not when  _ he _ left. Not when  _ he _ didn’t call. “Don’t you dare say that,” she scowled, turning her back on him and stomping down the hall.

 

“MJ-- Come on. I--”

 

She stormed into her room, and tried slamming the door behind her. Peter stuck his hand in the way, though. “I was in the rain, for hours. Looking for you, for  _ hours _ . I was scared, Peter. Terrified, even.”

 

“I know, and--”

 

“No. You don’t know. You don’t know how fucking scared I was for you, because you weren’t  _ there _ .” Michelle pushed on the door again and it knocked him off balance.

 

Taking the chance, she slammed it shut and locked it. “MJ,” Peter knocked. “Come on! I promise you--”

 

“Fuck off,” she said.

 

Her blood was boiling.

 

She shouldn’t have been so mad; Peter got home, safe, and it was obviously Harry that had held him back from making any calls. But… but  _ fuck _ . Michelle had never been so mad in her entire life.

 

Tomorrow, she wasn’t talking to him. Peter could rot.

 

**PETER**

 

He didn’t mean to disappear. 

 

On their way to the bookstore, they passed by this street market, and he saw this necklace. Carved into the shape of the sun, its rays included, it seemed to be made out of a dark grey wood. It was simple but beautiful, and about the size of his thumb. Peter’s first thought was that Michelle would totally love it. 

 

He owed her, honestly. She was suffering trying to teach him just a sliver of French. He knew how to introduce himself, partially knew how to ask where the bathroom was, and would probably forever struggle with the pronunciations. Whoever said that once you learn one language, then the rest came easy, was  _ wrong _ . Peter kept mixing up words and saying it in Italian instead, and he did that more than he’d like to admit. Michelle, though, stayed patient. She’d grimace and roll her eyes, but she’d follow it up with, “You can do this, Peter. I know you can.”

 

He knew, though, despite her patient exterior, she was slowly losing her mind. So, yeah, he owed her big time. Be it by buying her something or doing something for her in return, Peter wasn’t going to let her do this with no payment. 

 

He stood outside the bookstore for maybe twenty minutes. With each second that passed, he convinced himself more and more to buy that damn necklace. He checked inside and saw Michelle still looking through books, and he decided that he had enough time to go get it. 

 

Peter didn’t take into account how he didn’t exactly know where anything was. It took some expert navigating to get to the street market in the first place, and he had to walk up and down the row a few times with his eyes peeled, trying to spot the necklace once more. 

 

It was thirty five dollars. Thirty five fucking dollars! “It’s  handcrafted,” the vendor said. He added something in French, and his eyes peered into Peter’s soul, while he kept inching the necklace closer to him. It was tempting, all right. 

 

So tempting that Peter coughed up the thirty five dollars. He felt apart of him die as he did. But, as he walked back to the bookstore, he imagined the look on Michelle’s face when he would give it to her, and thirty five dollars didn’t seem like a big deal anymore. 

 

However, when he returned to the bookstore, she wasn’t inside. Nor was she waiting outside, or was she anywhere in his field of vision. Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket to see that it had died, and suddenly, the open world felt more cramped than that stupid store did. 

 

He didn’t know what to do, or where to go, or if Michelle was even safe. Peter wondered if he should use someone’s phone to call her, expect there were two issues with that. One, he didn’t memorize her number, and two,  _ he couldn’t ask to borrow their phone _ . And after a couple intense, heartbreaking hours of intense searching, he decided that the best plan was to go home. Peter could get Harry to help him look, but hopefully, Michelle had gone home, as well. 

 

Except Peter didn’t know how to navigate the metro system. It was different than it was in New York. 

 

He had only managed to get home because, in the midst of his freak out, he had bumped into a man on the train. He wasn’t mad, though; his eyes scanned Peter’s face and he grew concerned. The man wrote directions on the back of Peter’s math homework, and even offered to ride the metro alongside him, incase he needed more help. Peter said no; May had warned him too many times about occasions like this. However, he had felt so relieved that he sweeped the man into a hug.

 

“Peter,” Harry laughed once Peter walked inside. “Michelle is freaking out!”

 

“Is she here? Is she okay?” He looked around the corner, and didn’t see her in the kitchen. “MJ?” he screamed up the steps, holding onto the railing.

 

Harry informed him that she had yet to come home, and when Peter asked to use his phone, the bastard said no. He slumped his shoulders, defeated, and then murmured under his breath that he was going to charge his own. Peter pulled his phone out of his pocket, and as soon as it touched the air, Harry lurched forwards and stole it. “It’s a little funny, no?”

 

“ _ No _ , it’s not. I need to call her.”

 

“She’s on her way back! It’ll be something we can laugh about later.”

 

They weren’t laughing now.

 

Peter should’ve lunged at Harry and tackled him to get his phone back. He shouldn’t have showered, either, but he felt so gross and sticky after being on the metro for so long. Except, he didn’t lung, and he did shower, and now, Peter was trying his hardest to talk to her.

 

Michelle was the master, apparently, at the silent treatment. She didn’t say a word to him when he delivered dinner to her door, or when she brushed her teeth. He had hoped that come morning, she would’ve calmed down. But, when they both trudged out of their rooms, Michelle was somehow even  _ more _ quiet. She hardly lifted her gaze from her feet. The one look she gave Peter was one of pure distaste.

 

It made him feel sick. He hated when people were mad at him, and  _ Michelle _ , of all people, hating him? That, Peter couldn’t take. He needed her, he needed to talk to her, he needed to give her his gift. The necklace was in his backpack-- maybe he should surprise her at lunch.

 

Their pact of silence ended after second period. Even though Michelle wasn’t talking to him, they still walked to class together. When the bell rung, though, and everyone had vacated the room, she stayed in her seat. “MJ?” Peter asked. “What’s up?”

 

If there was a strong wind, it looked like it could’ve knocked Michelle over. Her skin was paler and had a thin layer of sweat over it, and her eyes stared forward, glazed over. “I don’t--” she started. “I don’t feel good.”

 

Forget about Peter feeling sick; Michelle actually was. And, it was his fault. She was in the rain for hours, searching for him.

 

He helped her onto her feet, his hand gripping onto her waist and her arm draped over his neck. “I can  _ walk _ ,” she tried to scorn. Michelle took one step forward, though, and her knees began to shake.

 

Peter caught her before she fell. He shook his backpack off, setting it on a desk, and offered to carry her on his back. Well, it wasn’t an  _ offer _ . He knew Michelle was going to say no, so it was more of a command.

 

She was lighter than he had expected. Peter was strong, but to carry a girl for twenty straight minutes was never something he thought he could do. And yet, he  _ did _ do it. Skipping the nurse altogether, Peter and Michelle left school property and began to walk back to the Osborn’s.

 

He would figure out their absences later. For now, he felt indebted to her, and if anyone was going to take care of her, it was going to be him.

 

Peter didn’t realize how fatigued his arms were up until he had to carry Michelle up a flight of stairs. She was asleep; her head resting against the crook of his neck, her drool falling onto his shoulder. It was like they were back on the airplane-- just with a higher chance of Michelle throwing up.

 

He suffered through the upwards climb. When he finally made it to Michelle’s room, he set tucked her into bed and his muscles relaxed. Peter, exhausted, laid down in the space next to her. Only for a quick breather.

 

“I’m still mad at you,” Michelle whispered. “Don’t think that... just because you brought me home…” She could hardly keep her eyes open. He placed his hand against her forehead lazily and felt her burning skin while she tried to shrug him off. She was weakened, however, and barely moved him.

 

“I’ll get you some water, and some soup.” Peter lifted himself off the bed. May used to make the best chicken noodle soup almost every week-- since it was the only thing she knew how to cook. Hopefully, he could replicate it.

 

After getting Michelle water, some cherry flavored medicine, and helping her out of her sweatshirt, Peter got started on the soup. He couldn’t make it fresh, seeing as it would’ve taken way too long to just defrost the chicken, so he decided to just add things to the canned chicken broth that the Osborn’s had. Peter put leftover chicken scraps from the night before, chopped up some veggies, and put it all in a pan. He, also, added some salt and pepper. 

 

He wasn’t proud. And, for good reason; when Michelle tasted it, her entire face scrunched up. “I might throw up,” she commented. 

 

“It can’t be that bad,” Peter refused. He put his lips to the edge of the bowl and tilted it back, and-- oh, yeah. It was terrible. “I’ll, uh, just get some soup from the can.”

 

“I’m not hungry, Pete. Just tired.” She started coughing, her arm flinging to her mouth to cover it and her chest compacting and releasing with each attempt of clearing her throat.

 

Hastily, Peter took a seat at the edge of her bed and took ahold of her water. Michelle looked dreadfully ill, her eyes sunken in and her skin sweating, and there wasn’t much he could do about it. All he could do, for now, was make her drink water.

 

When she calmed down, she took the glass from him forcefully. Or as forceful as possible for her.

 

“I’ll-- I’ll let you sleep now,” he sighed, still feeling like this was all his fault.

 

Peter stood up, however before he could vacate her room, Michelle let out a gasp of protest. When he turned around, she was propped up on one elbow, and was biting her lip. “P-Peter? C-could you do something for me?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, anything,” he eagerly said.

 

“I’m never able to fall asleep when I’m sick. M-my dad, when he was in town, would… rub my back.” Her cheeks flushed, looking down to her shaky hands. “No, uh, nevermi--”

 

“I can do it,” Peter agreed. “I said anything, didn’t I?”

 

Michelle didn’t acknowledge his acceptance, instead flipping to her side so she was facing away from him. Nervously, he sat back down on the bed. She was just sick, and she wanted to sleep-- it wasn’t a big deal.

 

His fingers twitched as his hand made contact with her back. As his hand gently moved up and down, and as Michelle curled into her pillow, Peter felt his own cheeks flushing. He’d given Liz back massages before, but this wasn’t a back massage. It was over the shirt, for one thing, and it was… well, he’d dare say that it was more domestic. Liz would complain about her back hurting after their intimate moments, and all the while she’d be talking about something that had annoyed her that day. Peter was just trying to get Michelle to fall asleep. His hand was just over her shirt, not even making contact with skin, and yet, he felt guilty.

 

Domestic moments were to be shared with his girlfriend, not his friend, who just happened to be a girl.

 

His phone vibrated against his thigh. Peter brought it to meet the air, to see Liz’s contact photo. (He loved the photo he had of her; it was from their first date to Homecoming.) “Pete?” Michelle said in response to his absent hand. 

 

He hesitated. 

 

And in the end, he just let it ring, placing his phone on the floor so he wouldn’t have to acknowledge it.

 

Peter went back to rubbing Michelle’s back, up until she fell asleep five minutes later. He didn’t mind; as he thought before, this felt like his fault, so helping her feel just a little, better mended Peter’s shame. 

 

She was still sleeping by the time Harry came home from school. He didn’t question Peter for long, apparently hearing enough when Peter said, “Michelle got sick. I had to take her home.” No more questions like, ‘ _ And you had to stay home? _ ’ or, ‘ _ My parents would’ve came home from work _ .’ Harry just left it, which was uncharacteristic for the big-mouthed teenager.

 

When she did wake up, it was four p.m. Michelle texted Peter to come to her room, and he quickly exited his to enter her’s. “You feeling any better?” he asked quietly.

 

She shrugged, “I guess. My head doesn’t hurt anymore.”

 

“Do you need anything? More water? Some Advil? Soup? Do you want soup now?” 

 

“I’m good, Pete. Just-- thank you for bringing me home.” Her head was still buried in her pillow, so her words were muffled. 

 

He walked forward and when he was within reach, Peter placed his hand on her forehead once more. Her skin was still hot, but not as blistering as it was before. “I was worried,” he told her.

 

She hummed, her lips forming a small smile. “Gross.”

 

“As if you weren’t worried about me last night.” He sat on the edge of the bed again, in the same spot where he rubbed her back. 

 

“Shut up, Peter. Don’t pretend like just because I’m sick and you took care of me that I’m over it. You--” Michelle was interrupted by a small strand of coughs. “You really scared me.”

 

Now. Now was the best time to give her the gift.

 

He held his finger up to signal that he’d be right back. Peter darted back into his bedroom and delved into his backpack, throwing his binders all over the floor to find that the necklace had found a home in his English folder.

 

“In my defence,” he said, coming back into the room, almost hilariously out of breath. “I bought you this necklace. When you were in the bookstore. And I had gotten a little lost and--”

 

This time, he laid down on the other side of Michelle. Peter slipped the necklace into her palm, and she looked at it with wide eyes. “You got this for me?” she inquired. “W-why?”

 

“For all your help and support. MJ, if you weren’t here, there's no way I that I would still be here. And I’m bad with words, so this is my thank you.” He watched her analyze the pendant, gaping, and he smiled. Wide and proud like he was looking at something life changing.

 

“No one's ever gotten me a gift before. That wasn’t for Christmas or my birthday.” The chain was long enough for her to slip it over her head, which is exactly what she did. “Thank you, Peter.”

 

To the best of her abilities, Michelle pulled him in for a hug. It was awkward; they were both lying down, so Peter had to move and adjust himself to get just one arm around her. And, even so, he realized that-- Michelle’s a good hugger. He wanted to hug her again.

 

“You still mad at me?” he said when they parted.

 

She scoffed. “You’re not getting off that easy. I thought you were  _ dead _ , and you got me a necklace? No way.”

 

A moment passed, and Peter sunk his head into the other pillow. Then, Michelle’s hand hit his chest as if it was an accident, but she kept it there. Palm facing the ceiling, her eyes on him, she corrected herself. “Of course I’m not mad at you, Pete. I never could be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so proud of this story <3 and there will be another split pov at some point. i hope you guys enjoyed it!!!
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	5. Chapter 5

**MICHELLE**

 

“I’ll be right back,” Peter announced, standing up from the lunch table. With her eyes, Michelle followed him as he jogged across the cafeteria to talk to their math teacher. She took note of how much Peter was talking with his hands-- which always meant that he needed some huge favor. Probably just needed to retake the test he failed. Still, she watched for a while, trying to figure out if she was a natural at reading lips or not.

 

Next to her, Harry chuckled. “You know he’s got a girlfriend, right? The person who yaps his ear off every night.”

 

“It’s not  _ every _ night anymore, first of all. And--” Finally, her gaze left Peter, so she could give Harry a death stare. “And what the hell does that mean?”

 

“It just means that-- Michelle, yesterday you asked him to go  _ stargazing _ . And if I had lost him near Notre Dame, I wouldn’t have looked as long as you did, and I wouldn’t have cried about it. And you wear that ugly necklace he got you every day.” He reached over and flicked the dangling pendant, and proceeded to smugly eat his burger.

 

Michelle’s face flushed. She shoved the necklace underneath her sweatshirt, and scoffed at the boy’s remarks. “He’s my best friend, and I think  _ you _ are heartless. If he buys me something with his own money, I’m going to wear it. If he gets lost, I’m looking for him. If he’s having a bad day, why  _ not _ go stargazing? It makes him feel better.”

 

“Peter was having a great time last night, actually. Excuses, excuses,” he dramatically sighed. 

 

Her hand flung into his chest, with a small impact. “I do  _ not _ \--”

 

“Those fists are going to get you in trouble one day,” Peter, back from his talk with their teacher, laughed. He sat back down next to Michelle, his hand resting on her shoulder as he did. “You don’t what?”

 

“I-- I don’t have a… boyfriend back home!” Michelle said, and it was obvious she had come up it with it on the spot. He laughed at the awkwardness of her words, his hand trailing from her shoulder, to her back, and finally drifting away. “Harry thought I did, but I don’t.”

 

“Harry, have you not been listening to a word MJ’s been saying for the past two months? Of course she doesn’t have a boyfriend.” Her jaw dropped, and Peter grinned at her, and rested his arm around her neck, in a friendly way.

 

He turned to Ned, who was across the table from him. Peter butted his way into Ned and Johnny’s debate over which school lunch was superior. And when he laughed, he laughed with his whole body; his legs bounced, his chest moved to the side as it convulsed, and his arms swayed with him. Michelle started to laugh with him, not knowing what they were talking about, but it was almost impossible not to. It was contagious. And it didn’t hurt that she was being gently pulled by the neck.

 

When Peter calmed down, and they were both sitting straight again, Harry poked her leg. “Just had to make sure he knows you’re single, right?” he whispered.

 

She buried her elbow into Harry’s gut as soon as he let out the last syllable. “What?” Michelle said to the guys who were gaping at her. “He was getting on my nerves.”

 

The boys nodded, like it was a valid reason. Harry got on everyone’s nerves.

 

She had hoped that her violent tendencies would’ve scared the idea out of Harry’s head, but alas, a few hours later, he was berating her about it again. The Osborn’s had, finally, taken them to the Louvre. Peter had his camera out, with the flash off, and was capturing every cool sight his eyes landed on.

 

Michelle thought it was charming. Even in the moments when he wasn’t taking pictures, and he was just enjoying the art, his hands were always clamped tightly onto the camera. She noticed how his fingers traced the initials that were carved into the leather sides when there was a lull, and how content he looked while doing it. 

 

Maybe she noticed a lot of things. Like how his hair looked flatter that day than any other day. Like how Peter somehow looked broader, and more muscular, even though she  _ knew _ he wasn’t working out. And, like how when Peter engaged in eye contact with her, he absolutely glowed. And maybe, it knocked her off her feet.

 

“You’re staring again,” Harry said, lurking to her side.

 

Her attention darted back to the ginormous painting in front of her. “Shut up, Osborn.”

 

“Hey, I’m not judging. Peter’s a cute guy. But…” his voice trailed off, and Michelle knew what was coming next. “He has, like, a  _ girlfriend _ .”

 

“Thank you, Harry, I very well know. I’ve seen his Instagram feed.” Peter had almost five hundred posts, and she would bet that at least half of them were Liz related. He would broadcast random dates, when he missed her, etcetera. At least he was posting pictures of him in Paris now. Some of them, including Michelle.

 

Still, if you scrolled down just a tiny bit, you would see all the puppy love and would feel the need to vomit.

 

Harry scoffed, “Oh, so you’ve stalked his Instagram? You really are in deep.”

 

“Will you shut up? Ever?” she snapped. 

 

“So defensive! What are you trying to hide, Michelle?” 

 

She shoved her middle finger into his face and scurried to get away from him, walking through the crowd to be next to Peter, instead. But, if she wanted to prove Harry wrong, she  _ shouldn’t _ be next to him.

 

When that thought crossed her mind, it was too late. Peter was right in front of her, and he was already opening his mouth to talk. “MJ, isn’t it amazing? All this art from so many generations ago, so preserved and-- I mean, you’re the art person. You think it’s amazing, right?”

 

“Yeah, amazing,” Michelle responded, sounding bored. But really, she was trying not to let her frustrations get to her. And, unsurprisingly, she was failing. 

 

Peter sensed the hostility in her tone. “Is something wrong? I thought you were excited to come.”

 

She had been excited, at one point. Two months of anticipation had been ruined by Harry Osborn’s stupid mouth. 

 

“I’m just tired,” she lied. “It was a long day at school.”

 

“We’ll go home soon, I promise. Let’s just get a few pictures so we can tell people we were here.” He saw her roll her eyes, and he proceeded to do the same. “You were the one who asked me to do this, by the way. C’mon. Make your mom happy.”

 

Begrudgingly, Michelle stood blankly in front of his camera. Peter got her to loosen up, though, offering to finally watch another episode  _ The Haunting of Hill House _ if she smiled. (The first time they watched it, a few days after she recovered from her fever, it scared him shitless, and he refused to withdraw the covers from his head. They got in trouble because Peter had fallen asleep in her bed.) Gratefully, she took his proposition and started goofing around.

 

She felt so much better around him than anyone else.

 

Then, Michelle spotted Harry, just behind Peter’s shoulders. He was outlining a heart with his fingers, mouthing the words, ‘ _ You looooove him _ .’ 

 

Her smile dropped hastily. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

 

“There are never enough pictures to take of you,” Peter complimented. At least, she thought of it as a compliment. And her face would’ve gone red, if not for the buzzkill that was still teasing her.

 

“Seriously, Pete. No more.” 

 

Michelle left her position, beginning to trail away, and she still heard the clicks of his camera. He grabbed her wrist in an attempt to get her to turn around so he could take more photos, but when she did turn around, her hand swung up, gripped the camera, and pushed down.

 

And at that very moment, its neck strap broke.

 

The camera went barreling to the floor, colliding with the ceramic tiles like a boulder would with concrete. Some fragments broke off, the lense detached from its holder, whole parts were no longer connected. Peter looked at her, dumbfounded. Like she had stabbed him in the chest.

 

“I’m-- I’m sorry, Peter,” Michelle croaked. 

 

They both kneeled down to pick up the pieces. However, he shoved her hand away. “It’s fine,” he said, lying, his tone giving him away. 

 

“Does it still work? Please tell me it still works.” That camera was like Peter’s baby. That camera used to be his uncle’s.

 

“Does it look like it will still work?” he snapped. “Shit. I didn’t mean to-- MJ, it’s fine. Really. I guess… I guess I’ll just have to use my phone camera from now on.” Peter angled his face down, but Michelle could still feel how distraught he was by the way his shoulders hung loose.

 

“I’m sorry, Pete. I know how much it meant to you.”

 

He shook his head, his eyes squeezed tight as he took a deep breath. Then, he opened his eyes, and plastered on a smile. “It’s just a stupid camera. No use fretting over it.”

 

Peter stood up first, and offered a hand to Michelle to pull her up. She took it, rising to her feet, and their grip lasted for a few lingering seconds. “Are you sure? If you’re mad at me, just tell me. Because--”

 

“MJ, I’m not mad,” he promised. “‘ _ I never could be _ .’”

 

“Shut up. I was sick, and my words don’t count when I’m sick.” She felt sick again-- or maybe she just felt so terrible for breaking Peter’s beloved camera that she might throw up.

 

“I’m not sick! And I’m not mad. Just-- just forget it, okay? I’ll just buy a new one when I get home.” He cleared his throat, and stammered, “N-New York home. Obviously.”

 

Except, Michelle knew how empty his words were. He had once told her how he and his aunt struggled with money from time to time, he told her how he busted his ass to pay for this program, and how he didn’t buy a single piece of gum in that time, and just barely got enough money. 

 

Cameras were expensive. Especially new ones. And Peter hated pity-- he would jokingly yell at her, “If you look at me like that one more time, we are no longer friends.” However, she had just ruined something he loved. So, Michelle, equipped with access to her parents’ bank account, was determined to buy him a new one.

 

When she pitched the idea to him during a tense metro ride, Peter shot it down immediately. “I’m not letting you do that,” he said. The only two available seats were given to Michelle and Mrs. Osborn, and the three men stood with their hands on the handlebars.

 

She looked up at Peter and rolled her eyes. “I owe you. You bought me this necklace, and last Saturday you bought me lunch, and I just busted your camera! How am I supposed to pay you back?”

 

“That necklace was a  _ gift _ , you don’t owe me anything. Lunch was six dollars. And like I said, the camera isn’t a big deal.”  _ Liar _ , Michelle wanted to respond.

 

As the day continued, she was even more convinced of how upset Peter was over it, and how upset he was at her. Michelle watched quietly as he tinkered with it with Mr. Osborn, and after half an hour, Peter got so frustrated that he slammed the lense on the kitchen table, breaking the glass. “Shit,” she heard him swear.

 

And after that, when Michelle asked him if he wanted to go on a walk, or watch a movie, or look at the stars again, he brushed her off. “I’m tired,” he had excused.

 

She watched him walk up the stairs, her stomach in knots. Michelle had to do  _ something _ , even if Peter didn’t want her to do it.

 

Spotting Harry watching TV, she walked up to him and kicked his feet. “You’re taking me to buy a camera tomorrow,” she demanded.

 

“Go do it with  _ lover boy _ ,” Harry laughed. 

 

“No. After school tomorrow, we are going to whatever store around here sells cameras, and Peter can’t know. And I’m not  _ asking _ .” 

 

Harry, realizing she wouldn’t give up, caved. He went back to watching his show with a permanent scowl on his face.

 

After school, Michelle and Harry dropped their backpacks off at the house, and then told Peter that they were going to get groceries. “Just the two of you?” he asked. “Can I come?”

 

“Nope,” Harry said, popping the ‘p.’ She didn’t get to say goodbye before Harry grabbed her wrist and dragged her out the door.

 

On the train, she noticed the plastic bag he was holding. “It’s Peter’s camera. Maybe we can find a similar model,” he explained. 

 

“He’s going to know it’s missing, dumbass,” Michelle cursed. “Watch. In ten minutes, he’s going to call me and yell at us for what we’re about to do.”

 

“What  _ you’re _ about to do. Which is buying him a four hundred euro camera. But, anything for lov--”

 

She stepped on his toes. If he mentioned that one more fucking time, Michelle wouldn’t hesitate to shove him down some damn stairs. Harry Osborn was probably the dumbest and most annoying person she had met.

 

And his idea to find a similar model had failed, anyways. The saleswoman did direct them, though, to a myriad of overwhelming options. She tried explaining the best options, and it was then that Michelle realized that she was not fluent in French, at all. The saleswoman was saying words she had never even heard before. Harry was conversing with her elegantly, and then suddenly picked up a box and said, “You’re buying this one.”

 

“Why? Is it the best one? With like, long range shooting and shutter abilities and--” She didn’t know what she was saying, but Peter had mentioned both of those one time.

 

“No. It’s just the cheapest.” The tag read 530 euros. It wasn’t  _ cheap _ , at all.

 

Michelle groaned, and nevertheless, she stomped to Harry’s side at the registered. She handed her credit card over, grimacing at the hefty price. She felt better than she did before, though. Peter deserved this.

 

They got home, and Michelle carried both cameras into Peter’s room. He was napping, it seemed, so she set the bags down on the floor to shake him awake. “You’re back,” he said, groggy. “How was  _ grocery shopping _ with Harry?”

 

“We didn’t go grocery shopping,” she admitted.

 

“Yeah, I got that.” Peter sat up, and one curl fell over his face.  _ He looked _ \-- Michelle cut off her own thoughts. “So, what were you doing? Are you and Harry sneaking around behind my back now?”

 

“Well… kind of? We did something that you might not be very happy about.  _ I  _ did it. Harry just took me.”

 

She leaned over and unwrapped the box from the plastic bag. Then, she placed it in Peter’s lap. 

 

He saw the camera, and his face fell. “ _ MJ _ . I said--”

 

“I know what you said, and I chose not to listen.”

 

“You’re taking it back.”

 

“No, I’m not. I didn’t get a receipt.”

 

“I’m not using it.”

 

Michelle, struggling, ripped the box open. She opened it eventually, all the while ranting, “Yes, you are. Because we are still here for another four months. Do you know how many pictures you could take in four months? And, do you know how bad I would feel for those four months if you couldn’t take those pictures? You’d sit there all sad and mopey when we finally go to the Catacombs. I am not going to be responsible for you being sad and mopey, so take the damn camera.”

 

She shoved it into his hands. Peter gulped and said, “It-- it doesn’t have a memory card.”

 

Micelle grabbed the other plastic bag, the one that held Peter’s old camera, and took it out. She popped the memory card free and pushed it into his chest. “There. A memory card.”

 

“MJ, it’s really nice of you to do this but-- I can’t take it. It’s probably so expensive and I don’t have the money to pay you back.” He inserted the memory card into his new camera and turned it on, igniting the screen.

 

“It’s a gift. You don’t owe me anything.”

 

Peter stared at her. “I’m serious.”

 

“Okay, fine. When we get back to New York, you can pay me back. And I don’t care how long it takes-- a month, two, a year. Just as long as you use the damn thing.”

 

He had look slightly angry ever since she had shoved the camera into his lap. His eyebrows were knit, and his jaw was clenched, and he stared at her the same way someone would stare at a dog when they pissed on their shoe. But, when Michelle’s words escaped her mouth, everything changed. Peter relaxed, his eyes turning from spiteful into a state of dreamy wonder. A smile creeped onto his face as he said, “A y-year? You still want to be in contact with me in a year?”

 

Michelle hadn’t even realized she had said that.

 

But, that didn’t mean she didn’t mean it.

 

“You’re like… my best friend, Pete. That won’t change just because we’re not in the same house anymore.”

 

His small smile turned into a full grin, and she felt her insides melt. Peter leaned forward to wrap one arm around her, resting his chin on her shoulder to give her a loose hug. “Thank you,” he said, “bestie.”

 

Michelle would’ve loved to sit there for a long time. His cologne reminded her of a day at the beach-- something she had decided on after debating for a handful of seconds, having to take several deep breaths to figure it out. It wasn’t an overpowering scent, in fact, she found it comforting. She found  _ him _ comforting; his hugs, his hand on her back, his hair grazing her fingers.

 

Michelle pulled away first. It was all getting to be too much.

 

“Is it a good model?” she asked.

 

“As long as it can take pictures, I’m sure it’s a good model.” Peter brought it up to his face so he could shoot some photos, but he paused, lowering it slightly. “Can I take some pictures, or will you break it again?”

 

“Fuck off,” she laughed. “Take  _ a few _ practice ones.”

 

He captured her laughing, and as they looked through the photos he took, he pointed at one specifically and said, “This one is really pretty.” A warm feeling subsequently burned through Michelle’s body.

 

They looked through all the photos he had taken so far, eventually going through the ones that were already on the memory card when Peter inherited it. Fourteen year old Peter wasn’t much shorter than he was now, but had a thick set of glasses and looked much more frail.

 

“I can’t believe these are still on here,” he gasped. He switched to the next picture to reveal an older, handsome man and a beautiful woman. They were holding a tiny cactus like it was their baby, a detail that made Michelle chuckle.

 

“Is that your aunt and uncle?” she asked. Peter gave a short nod. “She’s beautiful. And you know… you kind of look like him.”

 

“He was my dad’s brother.” He switched to the next picture, and he and his uncle were having an arm wrestling contest. “I won that, by the way. But I think he just let me win.”

 

Michelle smiled. His family seemed so loving, and fun. In all of the pictures they had these huge, giant grins, and she felt envious. “I--” she started, and at the same time realizing that she had never talked to anyone about her family before. “I wish my parents were like this.”

 

“What are they like?” Peter asked, setting the camera down.   
  


“Just… strict. They have this vision for me that I’m not a big fan of, is all. And that vision is more important than anything else, like arm wrestling contests or mini cacti. My mom only sent me here because she thought it’d look good on my college transcripts.”

 

“So you’ve never owned a mini cactus before?” he said, obviously to make her laugh.

 

It worked, admittedly. She let out a small chuckle and continued. “Nope. And do you know what the worst part is? They’re hardly ever home. I’ve made dinner for myself for the past four years and I still feel the need to follow every command my mom gives me. And when they are home… Do you ever feel unseen, Peter? Like, someone sees you, obviously, but they don’t really care?”

 

Peter nodded.

 

“That’s what it’s like when they’re home. God, does that sound stupid?”

  
“No, I don’t think so. And… I see you, MJ. I care that you’re around.” He threw his arm around her shoulder--his classic move. “And when we get back home, you can meet my aunt. You’re almost as cool as she is. And she’s pretty damn cool.”

 

Michelle felt her face getting warmer, and warmer. She gazed at him, subconsciously letting her eyes trail over his face. Looking at him, and registering his kind words, she felt herself ready to admit something.

  
She felt guilty, more guilty than she had when she broke his camera, but maybe there was the tiniest chance that Harry, for the first time in his life, was right.  _ Maybe _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m gonna try to post updates every weekend!! i hope you enjoyed 💞


	6. Chapter 6

**PETER**

 

On Halloween night, he found himself covering his face with blankets out of pure terror, with  _ The Nightmare on Elm Street _ and Michelle laughing at him in the background. “Weak,” she mocked. “And you said you could handle this.”

 

Peter let out a muffled scream into the sheets, and then acted like everything was fine once more. He was scared shitless, of course; he hated scary movies with a passion-- but Michelle loved them. “I  _ can _ ,” he emphasized.

 

It had been a while since they hung out like this. A while meaning a week, starting the day after Michelle bought the camera, but nonetheless, it was a tough week. Every time Peter tried to talk to her, she’d dodge him like the plague. And every time Harry was around, she would lock herself away in her room. Peter was growing a resentment towards him; he was obviously the source of her problems.

 

No, that wasn’t true-- Peter couldn’t resent Harry. He was a fun guy, at times, and he would see the two of them talking at school all the time. Peter must have done something wrong. He couldn’t remember saying anything even mildly rude, not including sarcastic comments, and he had ran through their conversation from that night a million times. Michelle had even hugged him before she went to bed. So  _ what happened _ ?

 

That night, Harry was at a party. He had made it clear that nobody should wait up for him, and as soon as he lurked out the door, Michelle was by Peter’s side. “Would you like to partake in my Halloween tradition?” she asked, acting normal. “I binge scary movies until the sun rises.”

 

Peter jumped at the chance to hang out with her, even if he was already terrified. And, he was going to ask what the hell was up with her, but he got distracted. Michelle had thrown different types of candies at him and told him to choose which one he wanted, and Peter would have much rather done that than confront someone.

 

They both got underneath her covers. Her laptop provided a friendly gap in between them; there was no skin on skin contact of any kind. Their legs would graze every so often but they were both wearing sweatpants, so did it  _ really _ count? Besides, Peter wasn’t thinking about their touches.

 

He was thinking about how terrified this movie made him. He was thinking about how sadistic Michelle was for actually enjoying this, with her pleased smile whenever someone got ripped into shreds. He was thinking about how happy looked good on her, and how her eyes crinkled when she grimaced and how fun it was to watch her be so invested in the movie. Michelle would yell, “In this situation, I’d survive. I’ve thought about this a lot, and…” She would continue with what she would’ve done and, frankly, it was endearing.

 

“Stop staring,” she said. She reached over with one hand, her fingers pushing hard against his face to make his head change directions. “You’re making me think I look like Freddy Krueger.”

 

Peter cleared his throat excessively. “He is way too pretty to be compared to you,” he joked, not letting the humiliation of being caught affect him.

 

Michelle gasped, her hand falling over her heart like he had wounded her. “I hope he gets you. I hope in the middle of the night, your window creaks open, and then a shadow lurks into your room.” Her voice was menacing, and she dragged her fingernails across his arm. It sent chills down his spine. “And then-- AAH! He’ll get you.”

 

Her scream had made him jump. He gave her a slight shove, but it didn’t stop her from crying from laughter. “I hate your guts,” Peter scorned, his heartbeat blistering in his ears. “I was going to take it back and call you beautiful, but never mind, I guess.”

 

Her laughter stopped instantly. Michelle brought her knees into her chest and moved her hair so it covered the side of her face. “Watch the movie, Pete,” she said.

 

He could still see the slight smile on her face, though. And nobody was even getting cut up.

 

When Harry came home from the party, he drunkenly stumbled into Michelle’s room, effectively scaring Peter. “Aw!” he shouted, “How cute!”

 

“Quiet down. Or else your parents will find out that you’re drunk,” she warned. 

 

Harry waved a hand in the air like he was dismissing her. “Who cares? Not me. Do you know what I care about? How  _ adorable _ this is. Michelle, congrats on growing a pa--” He stepped forward and tripped over his own feet. Harry barreled towards the ground, landing on his shoulder with a happy face.

 

Michelle gave Peter a glance, and it made him groan as he went to stand up. Slowly, he walked to Harry’s side, and started pulling him up. “You okay?” he asked.

 

“I’m perfect. What about  _ you _ ? Does it feel good to be in love in Paris?” His words slurred, and even though Peter was holding him, Harry was still struggling to stay upright.

 

“What do you mean? Liz isn’t--”

 

“Peter!” Michelle shouted. “Let’s get Harry to bed, okay? I think he might break something soon, or vomit.” She rushed over to them, making Harry’s arm hang around her neck to support him.

 

Confused, Peter agreed, but they started the ten or so steps to Harry’s bed. They laid him down with a hard  _ thud _ . “I love you guys,” he mumbled into his pillow.  “And I love how you two are so in--”

 

Again, Michelle cut him off. “We love you, too, Harry. Now, sleep.”

 

And, as if she had switched a light switch, he passed out. His snores rang out while Peter tugged his shoes off, so he would be more comfortable when he woke up with a hangover. “His parents are going to kill him,” Peter said.

 

“And we get to watch,” Michelle contently responded. There was a lull for a moment, where neither of them said anything, and just watched their friend drool all over himself. It was…  _ awkward _ , a new sensation for their friendship. “We should probably get to bed, shouldn’t we?”

 

“I guess we should,” he agreed. He was disappointed; he hated scary movies, yes, but he loved watching anything with Michelle. “Well… goodnight, I guess.”

 

She nodded, and started backing away towards the door. It was three in the morning, but she hardly looked tired at all, her skin was even able to glow in the dim lighting. Michelle smiled, giving him a slight wave. “Goodnight, loser.”

 

Ten minutes later, she texted him saying, ‘ _ Finished the movie without you. You’re welcome _ .’ Peter fell asleep with no worries, forgetting about how weird she had been acting. Instead, he focused on that they were still  _ them _ . It was a good feeling.

 

Then, he woke up. That Saturday was horrifically boring. Harry was home all day, hungover and grounded and was overly bitter, and it made Michelle cower in her room all day. Peter, with nothing else to do, was on the phone with Liz the whole time-- not that Liz was a second option, or anything. And she wasn’t boring! She had interesting stories at times, and if she would’ve cooled down for a minute or two, maybe she would be Peter’s first option. (Oh, God. He was going to pretend like he didn’t think like that.)

 

On Sunday, they were sitting at the table, eating lunch. Michelle was honed into a video on her phone, her earbuds in and blocking any noise around her. Peter took notes on her slight face twitched every so often, and how she obviously was not enjoying her macaroni and cheese. And, he thought it was so adorable how she tried containing her laughter. She  _ sucked _ at it.

 

“Peter,” Harry said, kicking him with his toe. “How would you like to have an incredibly romantic evening with Michelle tonight?”

 

He gaped. His ears turned red and his throat closed up. Harry had no filter. “I’m-- I’m sorry-- W-- what?”

 

Harry chuckled, shoving a forkful of his food into his mouth. “I’m  _ kidding _ . I had a ‘date’ tonight--” he put air-quotes around the word  _ date _ “--but I’m grounded. The venue isn’t that romantic, either. It’s like an Olive Garden.”

 

Peter and Liz’s first date was to an Olive Garden. He thought it was at least  _ kind of _ romantic.

 

His friend continued, “You should get out of the house. Do it for me, Peter. I can’t live, so you will. Michelle would probably love to go, right?”

 

“Oh, I don’t--” 

 

“Yo, MJ!” Harry shouted. Michelle tore her earbuds out to glare heavily at him. “Uh, Michelle, do you want to go to dinner with Peter tonight? My boy here can’t remember what it’s like asking a girl out on a date that isn’t obligated to say yes.”

 

“Not a date!” Peter screamed. His frustrations were boiling up inside of him, his fist clenching around his spoon as he stared at the smug smile on Harry’s face. “We’re friends, Harry. Did you know that it’s possible that there’s nothing more than that?”

Harry turned in his seat, with a faux dumbfounded appearance. He looked at Michelle and said, “ _ Really _ ? I’ve never considered that before. But--”

 

“I’ll go on the not-date-dinner. As long as Harry pays,” she swiftly cut him off. She had been doing that a lot, lately. 

 

“I’m not even going!”

 

“Too bad. You’re being a dipshit. I’d never go on a date with Peter, anyways.”

 

She said his name with a layer of shame coating her tongue. Shame or disgust; she expressed those two emotions in a very similar way. And it made Peter’s throat swell, and his eyes started to study how intricate the kitchen tiles were.   
  
Harry caved, eventually walking up the stairs, rummaging through his personal stache of money (that he kept in a shoebox under his bed, which is covered by porn magazines. That was suspicious in itself; no one uses  _ magazines _ to see porn anymore), and forked over close to two hundred euros. When Michelle’s eyes bugged out of her sockets, Harry said, “Don’t spend it all. Just  _ in case _ , you know?”

 

Her face relaxed and she stood up from the table. Shoving the money in her pocket, she said, “Let’s spend it all, Peter. Maybe we say fuck dinner and go on a shopping spree.”

 

“That’s a joke, right?” Harry tried confirming. “Michelle, if you spend all my money--”

 

Peter stood up, as well, and as he did, Harry’s voice cut off. “We won’t spend  _ all  _ of your money. Just one hundred ninety-nine euros of it, right, MJ?”

 

She beamed, her frizzy curls bouncing when she nodded in agreeance. Michelle caught a slight bit of her lip between her teeth, but it hardly disrupted her smile. “I think that can be arranged,” she spoke, straightening her glasses (that she had just recently found,) and not taking her eyes off of Peter.

 

Their intense eye contact at made him feel quite weightless. Like all the tension and shame from being away from home and breaking Ben’s camera and dodging a few of Liz’s calls had been stolen from him. Peter’s shoulders relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, and his vision tunneled to make it seem like he and Michelle were the only two people in the room.

 

Michelle’s voice brought him back down to Earth. She chuckled, finally taking a short glance at Harry. “We won’t spend it all. Promise.”

 

She was rose in color when her hands cupped her bowl to pick it up. She breezed past Peter, and he followed her path with his head.

 

They were going to dinner tonight. A friend dinner, but a dinner nonetheless. They had been out to eat a handful of times during their stay there, and everything those restaurants had to offer intimidated him. The fact that their sodas were eight ounces and iceless. The fact that he couldn’t read the damn menus (his own fault.) The fact that Michelle, semi-dressed up and full on beautiful, would act like she was so at home in those places. At least with the Osborn’s, Peter had Harry to balance out his idiocy. 

 

He was far too nervous. He really had no reason to be; it was just Michelle, it was just dinner, they were just  _ friends _ . A tiny part of him, however, felt like he was betraying Liz. And he felt the need to repeat those phrases in the mirror again and again until that feeling was just a tiny blimp on his radar. Just Michelle. Just dinner. Just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

At six fifteen, they were crammed in the metro train. It was cold outside, so Peter had just thrown on black jeans and his blue sweater. On the other hand, Michelle wore a long black skirt with a red shirt tucked into it. Red was her color, truly, making all of her features pop. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and had her glasses on, and shoved so closely in the train, Peter could spot… “Are you wearing mascara?”

 

“No,” she blurted. “Maybe. I thought it looked nice.”

 

“It does! It looks really pretty, MJ.”

 

She playfully nudged Peter’s shoulder with her own. “Shut up, Pete.”

 

Michelle wasn’t looking at him, intentionally dodging his gaze whenever he tried to make eye contact. “Did Harry say something to you before we left?” he asked. He reached out to place a comforting grasp on her elbow, but when he did, she started scratching it.

 

“Not really. Just told me not to spend all of his money again and to make sure I get you home before eleven.”

 

“He did not.”

 

“Did too! We have school tomorrow, and you need some beauty sleep. Obviously.” Her teasing comments were done hesitantly, like she wasn’t sure if they were appropriate to say.

 

Peter scoffed as the train came to a halt at their stop. “And you don’t need any?” he pressed, feeling Michelle grab his wrist so she wouldn’t lose him in the crowd.

 

“I’m  _ beautiful _ , ‘member?”

 

“Hey, I never said that. I said I was  _ going _ to, but then you decided to be rude.” They were quiet as they submerged from the underground and onto some fairly empty streets. Tourist season was over, and there was a strong breeze blowing leaves off of the sparse streets and making Michelle’s hair blow wildly. Still, the ambiance was just warm enough to replicate the feeling in his core. He looked over at Michelle, who was dragging him to the restaurant without a second look, and couldn’t help but saying, “You do look beautiful tonight. I guess.”

 

She was caught off guard by that comment, but he wouldn’t had noticed it if not for her foot that quickly dragged on the concrete. “I guess you look okay,” she responded.

 

They got to their destination. Shoulder to shoulder, they stood in front of the doors, peering inside. It was busy, and way fancier than any Olive Garden Peter had ever been to. He looked down at his blue sweater and instantly felt shame for the hole that was the size of a nail in the armpit. Michelle seemed unhappy with her attire, as well; she kept tugging at the shoulders of her shirt, which her loose and baggy compared to how tight it was around the core. 

 

“Should we go in?” Peter asked. 

 

He saw her wince at her shoes. Ratty black tennis shoes that were coated in dust. “Do you want to?”

 

Peter stole another intense stare inside. It was the type of place that would look down on teenagers, even if they wore the fanciest things in the world. “Not-- not really,” he croaked.

 

“Yeah. It’s not really our scene, is it?” Michelle waited for him to shake his head in agreeance. Then, out of the blue but not unwelcome, her hand cupped around his. “Let’s go find somewhere else to eat.”

 

She started dragging him down the streets once more. Peter suddenly wished he had brought his new camera, thinking of how pretty a shot like this would be, a shot that his iPhone would not to justice. 

 

They wandered instead of looking places up, and soon found a pizza place.

 

“This is the best pizza I’ve ever had,” Michelle had eventually sworn, her eyes dramatically rolling back into her head. “New York pizza is so  _ greasy _ and  _ plastic- _ y. This--”

 

“Did you just call a pizza  _ plastic-y _ ?”

 

“Yes, Pete. I did. The cheese and the bread just feel so fake. This, though, this is so real. I think I’m in love.” She tilted her head back, straining her neck, and lowered another bite into her mouth. Michelle moaned, and Peter couldn’t contain his laughter.

 

Although, he had to admit, the pizza was one of the best things he had ever tasted. “May always says that Italy has the  _ best _ pizza ever. Obviously. But, MJ, this just means that we have to go there one day to test our theory out.”

 

Michelle, as she was in the middle of lowering another bite into her mouth, paused for a moment. When she recovered from whatever blow Peter gave her, she took the smallest of bites and quickly swallowed it. “We?” she asked. “You mean both of us, at the same time?” 

 

“Yes,  _ both of us _ . I thought we established that we’re staying in touch after this is over.” They still had four mouths, and yet, they were both so wrapped up in what was going to happen  _ afterwards _ . Afterwards, Peter was introducing Michelle to his aunt. Afterwards, she was going to take him to her favorite spot in Brooklyn. Afterwards, maybe their friendship would be even better since it was just a tiny bit draining spending twenty four hours a day with someone.

 

Although, Peter never found it draining, being with Michelle. He always felt more alive than ever.

 

“No, no, I know. It’s just…” She wiped her fingers clean with a napkin and leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. She was having a hard time getting her words out, starting and stopping a handful of times. “When you get home, you’re going back to May, and you’re job, and L-Liz. You’ll be so busy, who even knows if we’ll get time to spend together?”

 

“Brooklyn is literally a two minute train ride away, MJ.”

 

Unconvinced, she bit her lip. Michelle sat up, grabbing her pizza once more and taking another bite after saying, “Whatever. Forget it.”

 

She quickly changed the subject to something ridiculous she had seen at school on Friday, and that lasted for the rest of their dinner. They left fifty euros on the table--it was Harry’s money, not theirs, so they decided to leave a hefty tip--and exited back onto the Parisian streets.

 

Michelle had proposed to take a stroll first, before they departed back to the house. He agreed, not caring that it had gotten a few degrees colder while they were inside. They didn’t talk; they just walked up and down rows and rows of cobblestone streets, passing by old storefronts that Michelle would drift to with a curious eye. She’d examine not only the contents on the other side of the glass, but also would run her fingers across the old brick surrounding it. She would murmur how fascinating it was that these buildings were still standing. Those murmurs weren’t directed towards Peter, they were just things she couldn’t keep in.

 

And during the walking, and the fascinating gazes, and the running of fingers, Peter would watch in an equally fascinated daze. At Michelle-- he would watch Michelle do all these things. He wasn’t looking at the storefronts with the same adoration she was. Or, with the same adoring stares he was giving her.   
  
She noticed a few times. She’d give him shoves in the chest, and at a certain point, took her hair out of the pony so she’d have a veil separating them. Peter couldn’t turn it off. He didn’t want to say it was  _ adorable _ the way she found these things interesting, but it really was.

 

Peter heard the violin before he saw it. It was surprisingly loud, echoing through multiple streets, and when they found it, they saw a man sitting on a park bench, with his violin case by his feet. “He must be freezing,” Michelle commented. She rubbed her own arms, trying to bring herself warmth.

 

But, despite the cold, there was a group of people that formed a half circle around the violinist. And in the center of that half circle, Peter was getting glimpses of an older couple. Older as in, if his grandparents were still alive, they would be around the same age. They were in an embrace, swaying back and forth to the music, their eyes never wavering off of each other. It was hard to tell if the people were admiring the music, or the couple. 

 

“I don’t think he minds,” Peter pointed out. 

 

“I didn’t know this was an actual thing that happens,” Michelle gaped, her interest slightly peaked. “Dancing in the streets. People watching you. That doesn’t happen.”

 

“Well, obviously it does.” He let his mind wander, and when it landed, Peter felt a rushing sensation go through him. He turned to Michelle, timidly pulling her hands away from her sides and started to pull her towards the music. 

 

“ _ Peter _ \--” she started to argue. “We aren’t--”

 

“I thought you loved it when I proved you wrong!” Lie. She hated it; but she would always laugh through the fleeting distaste. “And you don’t know these people, you’ll never see them again, so why not do something you might never get the chance to do otherwise?”

 

She scoffed, “And dancing in the streets is such a life changing experience?”

 

On the outskirts of the circle, Peter held both of her hands up near his chest. Holding on tightly, he looked up into her eyes. “Never know until you try, right? Come on, MJ. Dance with me. I want to dance with you.”

 

Michelle groaned, her chest falling forward and making Peter stumble backwards. “Briefly, we’ll dance.” He had never been so happy to hear the word  _ briefly _ .

 

He wasn’t a terrible dancer. May had given him a few lessons before Homecoming one year, and after he spent the night practically standing on Liz’s toes, she gave him a few lessons of her own. So, he knew how to slow dance perfectly fine. Peter held Michelle’s hands, their arms up by their sides. Then, his hand snaked around her back, and his fingers rested tentatively on her waist. Michelle, with eyes that darted around at the ogling crowd, nervously placed her hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

 

“I’m a bad dancer,” she admitted. Peter smiled at the violinist, who had just winked at him.

 

“You’re doing great. Just follow my footsteps.”

 

There was enough room between them to fit another person--a skinny person, but a person nonetheless. When Michelle tilted her head down to observe the pattern his feet made, though, some stray pieces of hair tickled his chin. It felt close. Close enough to make the cold disappear.

 

“Hey, MJ?”

 

Her head snapped up. She now had the hang of it, after a few seconds, and had a large and proudly dopey smile on her face. “Yeah?”

 

“I’d never leave you,” Peter blurted, recalling on their discussion over pizza. “Even if I get busy with other things, I’m never going to just  _ drop you _ . You mean too much to me.”

 

“Shut up,” she deflected. Their feet stepped around in a box formation, and as they turned, Peter noticed how more people joined in.

 

“No, I’m serious. There’s no amount of distance that will keep me from caring about you. You’re my best--”

 

Someone next to him cleared their throat. Instinctively, Peter held onto her tighter, and brought her in closer. “ _ Excusez-moi _ ,” said the person. It was the older woman, who was originally dancing with her husband. She continued, but everything she said went directly over Peter’s head.

 

Michelle shook her hand before she left. Again, she looked down at their feet as they started dancing again. Her eyes were closed, though, and he could only see a peek of her disbelieving smile. “What did she say?” Peter asked.

 

“Nothing. No big deal. Just wanted me to know that I looked cute, and she wanted to thank us for joining in. That’s all.”

 

It wasn’t. Her smile told him otherwise.

 

“Pete,” she continued. Michelle lifted her head, and he realized how much closer they really were. All he could see was her, and two small segments of other couples in the background. “Say more nice things about me.”

 

He took a deep breath, knowing she was trying to lighten the mood. Peter was going to honor her request, though “Well, you look great in red. You’re a good dancer. You’re terrible at translating, but whatever, it’s fine, as long as you know that when we go to Italy, I’m not translating shit for you.”

 

“That last one wasn’t a compliment. And you’re still on that Italy thing, huh?”

 

“We’re going there someday. Together. And you know what-- I will literally quit my job if it means I get more time with you.”

 

“Okay, now I mean it. Shut up, Pete.”

 

The violin made everything around them so dreamy. Paris, in general, had that feeling, but now it was amplified. Michelle’s skin glowed and her smile was radiant and he could see the tiniest of freckles he had never spotted before. And-- and oh, God, maybe they needed to go home.

 

“Peter--” She was cut off by the loud vibrations in his pocket.

 

He pulled his phone out. “Liz,” he spouted. “She’s calling me. I wasn’t calling you-- I’m gonna take this.”

 

Michelle’s entire mood came crashing down, and her angelic aura had become nothing more than pure indifference. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

 

Liz had asked him where he was, and Peter had said he was at home on the couch. He didn’t know why he felt the need to lie, and he didn’t think before he said it. Michelle never mentioned the contents of the call, even though she could so obviously hear Liz say, “And how is  _ Emmm-jayyy _ ?” Bitterness clouded her tongue. When Peter hung up, they went right back to talking about their hypothetical vacation to Italy, and were now on their way home. Except, Michelle was entirely too far away and had a dismal mood shift.

 

The train was almost empty, besides the two of them. They sat with a seat between them, Michelle’s legs outstretched on the spare seat. When she wasn’t talking, she was nodding and forcing a smile. Her eyes stayed on the floor, except for the time that Peter had miscalculated how fast the train would stop, so his body swayed and to stabilize himself, he reached his hand out and it found Michelle’s shin. She stared at him, shocked, and for the first time since Liz called, she let a real, small, quick smile grace her face.

 

And it was a beautiful smile.

 

And Peter was perplexed as to why his fingers that had grazed her skin were tingling, and why his entire world shifted when Michelle laughed and jokingly kicked his hand away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im aware as to how cliche this story is, and i am also aware that i dont really care <3 anyways i hope you guys enjoyed!!


	7. Chapter 7

**MICHELLE**

 

“What’s the word for the moon, again?” Peter asked. They were laying down on her bed, her feet on her pillow and next to Peter’s face. It was another boring Friday night, so Michelle offered to give him a little French lesson. 

 

“ _ La lune _ ,” she answered. She threw a bouncy ball in the air and caught it and repeated that cycle.

 

“Okay, well…  _ Je veux faire la lune _ .”

 

She let out a laugh, “You want to do the moon?” 

 

Peter groaned. He placed one arm underneath his head, propping it up, and started to absentmindedly pick lint out of Michelle’s leggings. “I want to  _ go _ to the moon. Stop laughing at me, Ms. I’m Perfect At Everything.”

 

“Shut up.” Michelle lightly kicked his head. He winced like she had nailed him with her toes, but in reality, it didn’t hurt more than a strong breeze would. Still, she laughed, because that’s how bored she was.

 

“Teach me a swear word,” he requested. 

 

“Are you eight years old?”

 

“Yes, I am. Now teach me one.”

 

He moved to the bottom of the bed now, where Michelle was, his legs stretching out horizontally next to her’s. Peter rested on his stomach and supported his chin with his hands, cupping his own face to plead at her. He batted his eyelashes and pouted his lips. “Come on, I wanna know how to swear out some teachers when we get back home.”

 

God, he was stupid.

 

Michelle’s lips rubbed together as she looked up at him. Sometimes, he had the maturity of a seven year old, and other times, it was almost like he  _ more _ mature than her. When she was going through a rough night, Peter would be next to her with advice. He’d bring her in for a hug and tell her stories that would all accumulate to one single theme-- like he was a damn English teacher, or something. When Peter was going through something, though, Michelle would just sit next to him, the both of them in silence.

 

It was baffling, at times. Peter was so excited to learn a swear word in another language, but just the other night he was lecturing her about how their lives were finite so they had to live them. Michelle loved seeing those two different sides of him. She loved how charming he was throughout it all. She loved how effortlessly he could pull off both, and how she wasn’t even shocked that he had asked to learn one.

 

“ _ Merde, _ ” she said, adding an exasperated sigh. “It means shit. And you know how we say ‘break a leg,’ as good luck? The French say  _ merde _ . There used to be dog shit all over Paris because people would never pick it up, and it got to the point where the French said it caused good luck.”

 

“So that’s all they say? That’s a little rude.”

 

“And saying break a leg isn’t?” 

 

Peter thought for a moment. His mouth opened, but then he quickly cut himself off. “I guess you’re right. I hate it when you’re right.”

 

“You should be used to it by now, since I’m right all the time.”

 

He clenched his jaw, suppressing his smile as he seemed to hover over her even more. “You--” he started, a laugh escaping his lips. But, his phone rang. She hated his stupid phone more than she hated how she felt when he chose to answer it. “Hey, May!” he cheered.

 

Overall, though, Michelle hated the relief she felt when she heard May’s name. She was no longer a good person, and she knew this fact; she would silently hope that one day, Liz would just stop calling. Whenever she called, Peter’s entirely personality changed. He wasn’t the Peter Michelle knew-- the one who was always so engaged in everything, and excited and vibrant and  _ honest _ . When Liz called, he was bored. He was just going through the motions, and if Michelle was in the room, he would never tell Liz.

 

She was frustrated with this. Not only second guessing if Peter would become like this when they leave Paris, but also thinking:  _ I would never bring out this side of him _ . Michelle never painted herself as  _ that _ kind of girl, the girl who falls for another girl’s boyfriend and then starts tearing her down in her mind, but apparently, she was.

 

She absolutely couldn’t stand herself when she thought like this.

 

Now, though, Peter was just on the phone with his aunt. He sat up, his legs hanging over the edge of the bed, his back to her. “No, yeah, I’m having a great time. Just like I was the last time you called. I was just hanging out with MJ.”

 

Upon hearing her name, Michelle pushed herself so she was sitting up. She crawled next to him and indiscreetly tried to listen in. Peter switched the ears that the phone was being held against so she could hear better. “MJ, huh?” a woman’s voice said.

 

May Parker had a beautiful voice. Michelle could imagine her singing lullabies, or telling stories, and it being the most soothing thing in the world.

 

Peter blushed at the inflection of her words. “Yeah, MJ. She wants to say hi, actually.”

 

“Oh--” Michelle said, startled. He signaled for her to talk, using his finger to make a  _ hurry up _ motion. “Uh, hi! I’m-- I’m Michelle. MJ. Whichever.”

 

“I’ve heard a lot about you.”

 

“That’s not true,” he corrected.

 

“Don’t listen to him,” May said. “But would you mind if I talked to him alone for a few minutes.”

 

Michelle’s body heated up, feeling embarrassed for some reason. May sounded serious, now, and as Michelle stuttered out her words, she could hear a sigh on the other end.  _ Oh god, _ Michelle thought,  _ she hates me _ . “Of course! I’ll just be outside, Peter.”

 

It wasn’t until she was on the other side of the door that she was reminded of that being  _ her  _ room. She shifted on her feet in front of the door, unaware of what she should do now that her only source of entertainment was occupied. 

 

Michell hummed, eventually deciding to go down to the kitchen to get a snack. Just as she passed the boys’ room, though, there was a loud  _ CRASH _ . Harry yelped, his feet pounding on the ground.

 

She opened the door without knocking. He was on the ground, pushing pieces of broken glass together with a shirt that had been folded up as much as possible. “The hell are you doing?” she asked.

 

The window was open. The mid-November chill had set in and Harry was dressed in shorts and a polo shirt-- the complete opposite of what someone would usually wear. “Close the door,” he demanded. Once she had, he continued, “I broke my mom’s old dog glass sculpture that she forced in here. It was ugly, but she’s going to kill me.”

 

“And how did you do that?” 

 

“Not important.” Michelle groaned at his noncompliance, and Harry glared. “You and loverboy will snitch. I swear, we got the two most straightedge teenagers in your entire country.”

 

She bit down on her lip. “I’m not-- Peter isn’t my-- Just tell me, Osborn.”

 

Harry sweeped all the glass pieces into the shirt and tossed them into the trash. “I was sneaking out the window. Felicia is having another party, and I’m still grounded.” He looked up at her to see her distaste. “See. I knew you would think it’s a bad idea. All you and Peter want to do is sit in your room and cuddle and do boring shit.”

 

She thought about all the times she told Harry that  _ nothing _ was happening between her and Peter. It had to be close to sixty times; once every day during lunch, when he would catch her staring; after the walk home, since at times Peter would throw his arm around her neck (in a friendly way); every damn hour on nights and on weekends. Harry had it weaseled into his head that there was something between them.

 

Michelle’s unwanted feelings were bubbling inside her, yes, but Peter would never reciprocate. And Harry was staring at her with this smug look on his face, like he was right and he was prepared to rub it in, and  _ god _ she just wanted to prove him wrong.

 

“A party sounds like fun, actually.” She hated parties. People were everywhere, the music was too loud, and it was never, ever fun if you were even functionally drunk.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “The boyfriend won’t be happy about that,” he scoffed.

 

Again, she bit down, bottling her anger. “Don’t go anywhere without me,” she said before exiting the room. Michelle made a quick turn and knocked quietly on  _ her own door _ . She could still hear Peter talking to his aunt, so she remained quiet until he answered her knocks.

 

His voice was loud enough for Michelle to decipher a few things. “No, May, I swear! Would it be such a bad thing, though?” He went silent for a bit, his response to whatever was said on the other line incredibly muffled. Then, he said, “You’re okay with it?” or “You’re okay, right?” 

 

Michelle knocked again, feeling invasive. Peter hung the phone up and yelled, “Come in!”

 

“It’s my room,” she spoke, bursting through the door. “I should’ve kicked you out.”

 

She went towards her closet, ignoring how his gaze followed her around. Michelle took out her boots and sat down next to him on the bed, and began to lace them up. “May says sorry. She feels like she was rude. Um… where are you going?”

 

“I butted my way in, she wasn’t being rude.” She tied the laces of one boot, then started to work on the other. “I’m going to a party with Harry.”

 

“Oh.”

 

A beat passed. Peter’s shocked ‘Oh’ hangs in the air, reeking of disappointment. “Am I not allowed to go have fun?” Michelle then asked, trying to play it off as a joke.

 

“No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just-- Am I not allowed to come?”

 

_ Oh _ , her brain echoed. Peter didn’t seem like the type to go a party on his own will. (Neither was Michelle, though, but she was trying to prove a point.)

 

“I thought you hated parties.” She finished tying her laces, and reeled backwards slowly until she was stiffly sitting straight up. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him staring at her.

 

“Someone has to keep Harry out of trouble. If he gets grounded again, they might lock him in our room and throw away the key. Then where would I sleep?” Peter chuckled, his shoulder bumping against Michelle’s. 

 

That wasn’t his reason for going-- she fully believed that. He was going to keep an eye on  _ her _ , hopefully so she wouldn’t make a fool of herself or drink her bodyweight. Michelle watched as Peter stood up and threw on a sweater, all the while this incredibly grateful and warm feeling growing and growing in her stomach.

 

He cared about her, caring enough to forbode his “I’m never going to another party again” rule. 

 

Michelle felt herself starting to muse.

 

She needed to get out of her head.

 

**PETER**

 

He had said it a hundred times before, and would say it a million times after, but Peter hated parties. It was the very last place he would want to be, especially at that moment. His phone call with May had tied knots in his stomach. “You need to figure out what you want,” she had said.

 

It had been a few weeks since he had talked to his aunt, so Peter was catching her up on everything that had happened. And all of his stories had revolved around Michelle. He told her about that night when they danced, the day they were allowed to leave school early so they watched the first snowfall of the year from the top of a hill. Peter described it in way too much detail, and he might’ve focused too much on Michelle’s reaction. How Michelle looked happy. How the snow stuck to Michelle’s skin and hair. How pretty of a picture it would’ve been, had Peter had his camera.

 

“What happened to Liz?” May had eventually interrupted. “I thought you  _ loved _ her.”

 

“What? I- I do! MJ’s just a friend, May.” His voice was more like a yelp.

 

“I’m sorry, it’s just that relationships move so quickly these days. And you reminded me of how Ben used to talk about me. He was always taking pictures,’’ May sighed, her  words getting quiet and small.

 

Peter looked up, suddenly being confronted by the pictures Michelle had taped to the wall. Polaroids, mostly of her, mostly taken by him. He had ran out of footage already, wasting them by giving them away.

 

No-- it wasn’t a waste. Michelle adored the pictures; Peter just wished he could’ve kept a few more than he had. Only because they were good pictures, of course.

 

After his long silence, May said, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart. Just-- you need to figure out what you want. Neither of those girls deserve a broken heart.”

 

There was a knock on the door. And, instead of thinking on what May had said, he followed Michelle to the party. Now, he was peeling a drink out of her hand as she fell into his arms, her legs jelly. 

 

She had been arguing with Ned over who could make the most disgusting combination of liquor, ever. Harry and Felicia were crowded around, egging them on as the competitors taste tested their concoxions. Michelle, after a few attempts, raised her fists in victory--one gripping the glass of poison--and shouted, “I did it! The worst drink in history. Hereby, it shall be named…” she looked around the room and slyly glanced over her shoulder. “The Parker,” she finished.

 

“Mine is  _ worse _ ,” Ned boasted. “And how can  _ you _ name it the Parker when--” He glanced up quickly, and Peter followed his gaze to Harry. “--when Peter is obviously the most attractive guy in this room! I love you man, have a taste.”

 

He dangled his mixture in front of Peter, who politely declined. Then, Ned offered it to Michelle. “Guess I’m drinking for two,” she commented.

 

She placed the glass to her lips, slowly tilting it back. Peter could spot the moment when the liquid touched her tongue, as she winced violently. Still, she took a large gulp. “That was definitely not grosser than mine.” 

 

Michelle attempted to take another sip, but her foot tripped over the other. She stumbled backwards, the drink spilling onto her forearms and all over the kitchen tile, and Peter caught her before her balance would give out completely. His hands were tightly positioned over her waist, and he could the vibrations in her core as she began to laugh.

 

“Are you okay?” Peter asked. Her hair tickled his neck as he tried hoisting her back up to her usual size, but Michelle was limp. She was focusing on her undying laughter.

 

_ He  _ wasn’t okay. Someone had bumped into his back. A French rap song made it feel like the whole house was shaking. Every person in the room thought Michelle’s fall was hilarious, but Peter thought it was the opposite. He didn’t like how she could hardly stand on two feet. Nor did he like how, every time she opened a new beer, she made sure Harry saw her do it. It was almost like Michelle thought she had something to prove to him.

 

And the idea of  _ Michelle _ having to prove anything to  _ Harry _ , of all people, infuriated him. Instinctively, subconsciously-- it upset him, and he couldn’t control it.

 

Soon after, Peter was watching his friends dance from a secluded corner when Michelle walked to his side. Another beer was resting in her hand. He was becoming convinced that underaged drinking was illegal for a reason. “You look so lonely,” she said.

 

Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead. Michelle rested herself against the wall, but her hips still swayed with little coordination. He smacked his lips together, taking in a large breath of air as his eyes didn’t leave her. A strand of hair stuck across the skin. “I--” Peter’s pinky hooked onto the stuck curl and pulled down “--would kind of like to go home.”

 

Michelle took a moment, then nodded. She stood straight up, her hand tight on his shoulder. “I might need a little help,” she stuttered.

 

He grabbed onto her waist and they both took off from the wall. At some point, Peter should’ve stopped her from drinking. Ned, as well, who was dry heaving in the corner as Felicia screamed at him to take it to the bathroom. Peter didn’t need to get drunk to be stupid, it seemed.

 

They walked towards the exit. Michelle’s arm draped over his neck, her head resting on his shoulder, her legs not doing enough of the work. He adjusted his grip every so often, and was in the process of that when Harry spotted them. 

 

“The bedrooms are up the stairs, guys. You’re going the wrong way.”

 

“Shut  _ up _ , Osborn. Not all of us are sex fiends like you,” Michelle slurred.

 

Harry shrugged. “ _ You’re _ not. But Peter--”

 

Sometimes, he wanted to punch Harry in the face. He clenched his fists before speaking. “We’re going home. You should come with us, since you’ve had more than enough fun tonight, right? And if you aren’t there when your parents wake up--”

 

“I’m good. But you two,” his hand slapped against Peter’s shoulder. “You two have a good time. Remember, don’t be selfish. Michelle’s been waiting a long time, and--”

 

Peter’s face burned. He shoved Harry backwards, only hard enough to shut him up, and it gave them enough time to go through the thinning crowd of people and leave the party. 

 

He was locking the whole house up when they got back. Harry would have a fun time sleeping on the lawn.

 

“He is such a dick,” Michelle complained. They walked down the road, their steps sloppy. “What the hell does he know? About anything? Or about you? Absolutely nothing.”

 

“I’ll hit him harder next time,” Peter promised. 

 

“No.  _ I’ll _ hit him. You’re too nice to hit him.” She looked up at him instead of staring down the road. “I don’t mean that in a bad way! I mean it in a very, very good way. I like how nice you are, Pete.”

 

They trudged along, their pace slowing down to a stroll. “Oh, yeah?” he pushed, considering this to just be another one of their casual back and forths. “So if I just became a douchebag like Harry, would you hate me?”

 

“At least you’d still be  _ funny _ .”

 

“Funny?” He didn’t consider himself to be that funny, or that nice. He liked hearing it from Michelle, though.

 

“Funny. And pretty. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are, Pete?”

 

Peter felt flushed. As if a girl had never told him that. (Or, maybe that’s what the problem was; a girl  _ had _ told him that before. Liz.) “A few times, yeah.”

 

“Well, I think it should be said more. You’re so pretty, and nice, and-- oh, god.” Michelle placed a hand on Peter’s chest instinctively, and too fast, she was kneeling over. He grabbed her hair chest in time before a new substance appeared in the grass.

  
He should’ve stopped her from drinking a long, long time before they left.

 

Peter decided to chop up her compliment spree to her just being drunk. He expelled the thoughts that told him otherwise as they continued the hike home, but even when that came to a close, and Michelle was already half asleep when her head hit her pillow, the expulsion never stuck. He had always thought that being drunk just removed your filter. It didn’t change what you thought or who you were, it just lowered your inhibitions.

 

But, then that would mean…

 

Peter looked back to Michelle, who seemed to already be asleep. He cursed himself for not being able to control his own mind and stood up from the edge of the bed, and began to walk out of the room. “Peter,” he heard. “Can you stay?”

 

He turned around; her eyes were still closed, her head still buried in her pillow. But he could invision what her face looked like, in that moment. Her pleading brown eyes and her whimsical, charming smile.

 

Just until he knew Michelle wasn’t going to choke on her tongue. Then he’d go sleep in his own bed.

 

Peter layed down on top of the covers without a word. He pulled out his phone to keep himself busy, but when there was nothing entertaining--not even a text from Liz, which was unusual for this hour--he rested his eyes. Just for a moment. Peter listened in on Michelle’s breathing, and he could remember thinking,  _ Alright, now’s the time to go _ .

 

But, he didn’t.

 

He fell asleep.

 

And then he woke up, realizing he had wormed his way underneath the blankets, and also noticing that Michelle wasn’t sleeping next to him.

 

No, she was awake. She was kneeling next to the bed, shaking Peter’s shoulder and whispering for him to wake up. When he turned onto his back, he saw the rat nest that was her hair and that she was wearing his sweatshirt. He didn’t mind that she was wearing it, though. With the early morning light aiding, Peter found both facts kind of, for lack of a better word, cute.

 

“Hey, Pete,” Michelle greeted, sounding nervous.

 

“You’re up so early,” he complained.

 

“I know. But I went up to go to the bathroom, and then there was a knock on the door, and--”

 

Peter rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up. “Wait, wait, wait. Let me just ask, do you think I’m pretty?”

 

She didn’t find that very amusing. She didn’t laugh, or push his head to the side, and didn’t even roll her eyes. “There’s someone downstairs asking for you, Peter.”

 

“Really? Who?”

 

“Your girlfriend.”

 

Dread coated her voice.

 

Dread filled his stomach because of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um yeah! tysm for reading! i hope you enjoyed and if u didnt im sorry <3
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/hannrlee


	8. Chapter 8

**MICHELLE**

 

If it hadn’t been for one thing, Michelle would have woken up feeling horrid.

 

Her head hurt, as if her brain had absorbed all the alcohol she had consumed and grew, no longer fitting within the confines of her skull. The aftertaste of vomit was still lingering in her mouth, and her skin felt disgusting.

 

However, Michelle wasn’t suffering; on the contrary, actually. When she took in her surroundings, she first thought of how good it felt to be held by Peter Parker. His arms were wrapped around her; his head in the bend of her neck; his steady breathing sending chills down her spine as it blew onto her. It distracted Michelle from everything else.

 

So instead of thinking about the pounding headache or how her skin was crawling, she was analyzing how warm, and safe, and  _ loved _ she felt in Peter’s arms. She was considering how their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces. She wondered when they got into this position.

 

Mostly, though, Michelle debated over why he never left, instead staying in the bed with her. The times before where they would wake up next to each other was always an accident-- they’d be watching a movie and would both fall asleep, and she would have to wake Peter up so he could sneak across the hall. And, they would never be in this position.

 

That meant something, right? It had to.

 

Michelle didn’t bask in the embrace for long, as the aftertaste in her mouth was growing stronger. She hoisted herself out of bed. Immediately, she missed his arms tight against her stomach. 

 

If the hangover wasn’t making her feel terrible, then her thoughts would get her there. Peter had a girlfriend, who he loved and adored, and would never cheat on. And Michelle would  _ never _ , ever help anyone cheat. She felt the need to repeat those facts, to burn it into her brain to she can silence her emotions. It never worked for long.

 

Feeling a slight chill, she grabbed the closest sweatshirt--which just happened to be Peter’s, but he wouldn’t mind--and put it on as she exited towards the bathroom. Michelle opened a bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed two in hopes of it easing her headache, then she began to brush her teeth. She scrubbed and scrubbed, almost as if she thought that the night before would be erased if the taste of vomit was.

 

She remembered making a fool of herself. Drinking too much to appease Harry and telling Peter he was pretty and nice and funny. She remembered that, if she wasn’t cut off by all her liquids coming up her throat, Michelle probably would’ve told him everything. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but she was still humiliated.

 

She was never drinking again.

 

As Michelle finished in the bathroom, she slowly climbed down the steps, and there was a knock on the door. It was too early for an average visitor. Assuming that it was a scam house call--she used to get people like that knocking on her door all the time back home--she was prepared to just sit on the stairs and wait it out until they left.

 

Then, the person knocked again. And, the third time, they shouted, “Is anyone awake? I’m looking for a Peter. Parker.”

 

It couldn’t be, she thought.

 

No one would really fly all the way across the ocean like this.

 

She opened the door, and suddenly, it wasn’t just the hangover that was making her feel ill. Liz Allan stood in front of her, with a straight, elegant posture and a kind, gracious smile. She wore blue jeans and a long sleeved shirt-- both of which looked uncomfortable for a long plane ride.

 

In comparison to Liz, Michelle was puny. Liz was just an inch or so shorter, but the way she held herself, so confidently and gracefully, it made her seem so much taller. She had fuller lips and better skin and hair that was silky. Michelle, even when she wasn’t near death, would never look like Liz Allan.

 

“You must be MJ,” she greeted, sweeping her into a hug. “Peter has told me so much about you! Is he here?”

 

Michelle’s arms stayed up by her sides, shocked at the affection and directness. “He’s, uh, upstairs.” Liz backed away and took the chance to peer up at the second floor. “And-- it’s Michelle.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Michelle. My name.” Silence floated between them; Liz’s lips parted like Michelle had said something that offended her. Eventually, she continued, “I’ll go get him. You can take a seat on the couch.”

 

She turned around and trudged up the steps, her grip on the railing acting as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. This was crazy.  _ Liz _ was crazy. From what Peter had hinted at, she wasn’t supportive of this decision, nor was she happy to hear about his Parisian adventures. What person in their right mind would show up out of the blue like this?

 

Unless, it wasn’t a surprise. Unless Peter kept this huge thing from Michelle-- but he wouldn’t do that. He’d be too worried about breaking the rules the Osborn’s had set or, if that wasn’t on his mind, would have stressed over how he was going to come up with an excuse for Liz’s presence. And above all, he would’ve told Michelle. They didn’t hide things from each other. (Except one, very small thing on her part.)

 

She left the door open as she tiptoed over to Peter’s side of the bed. She was nervous, surprisingly. Nervous about what he would say about the night before and nervous about if things would change now that Liz was here. Still, Michelle gathered the courage and awkwardly kneeled on the ground, not knowing where to sit. She shook Peter’s shoulder lightly, worried that if she did it too hard, he would break.

 

After a few shakes, Peter yawned and flopped onto his back. The sun shone into the room, highlighting his cheekbones and his jawline, making his skin shine in a breathtaking way. Michelle tried taking it all in; ‘it’ being how visually pleasing he was, how  _ pretty _ he was, as her glances would now be taken as something distasteful, even if it wasn’t dishonest.

 

When she noticed that his eyes were open, she let out a huff of air. “Hey, Pete,” she said.

 

“You’re up so early,” his voice strained. 

 

Michelle nodded, her heart pounding in her ears. “I know. But I went up to go to the bathroom, and then there was a knock on the door, and--”

  
  


As she talked, Peter rubbed his eyes. He pushed himself onto his elbow and, with a lazy smile, he said, “Wait, wait, wait. Let me just ask, do you think I’m pretty?”

 

Michelle stared at him flatly.  _ Humiliated _ \-- that was one word she would’ve used to describe how she felt. “There’s someone downstairs asking for you, Peter.”

 

“Really? Who?”

 

“Your girlfriend.”

 

Peter’s face fell. He gulped, running his hand through his curls, and started to stutter. “Liz? L-Liz is here?”

 

She just nodded, relieved. He didn’t know, and he wasn’t happy about it.

 

Michelle was a terrible person.

 

He slowly retracted out of the bed, revealing that he was still wearing his jeans from the night before. His hands gripped the side of the bed in an attempt to push himself onto his feet, but when his fingers grazed her’s, Peter darted his hand away. Both of their faces flushed as he whispered an apology. “I-- I’ve gotta-- yeah.”

 

Peter stood up and left the room in a hurry. His bare feet pattering against the floor left echos in Michelle’s head. Pounding, invasive echos that led down the steps and right into Liz’s arms.

 

She stayed in her room while Peter gave Liz the tour of the house. As he showed her his bedroom, Peter mouthed, ‘ _ We’ll talk later _ ,’ at Michelle.

 

The walls were thin. Thin enough for her to feel like she was eavesdropping. His door shut and Liz spoke, “I thought they had a son.”

 

“Oh, Harry? He must have slept at Felicia’s house last night.”

 

Michelle reached for her headphones.

 

“What are these?” Liz asked.  _ What could she be talking about? _ she thought, mapping out the layout of Peter’s room in her mind. There were the stupid French candy wrappers he refused to throw away, or his homework he hardly touched. Or… or all the pictures he had hung up of Michelle. Or all the portraits she had drawn of him.

 

“Those are some pictures I’ve taken that I’ve really liked.”

 

“They’re all of Michelle.”

 

“Subjectively… they’re good pictures. And those are just some doodles she gave me.”

 

She pressed play on her music, although her earbuds were still laying loosely. “Doodles,” Liz repeated. “They’re  _ you _ , Peter. Is there something--”

 

He yelped, “No! No, no way. She’s my friend.”

 

Michelle felt her chest cave in. She jammed her earbuds in, music overtaking whatever Liz said next. She closed the door as well, thinking that if she had to see Peter with his doey eyes and Liz with her vindictive smile, she would lose it.

 

To distract herself, she did her homework. She opened up a window and sketched the view. And since her efforts at getting more sleep were useless, Michelle watched random episodes of  _ New Girl _ . Whatever would help pass the time.

 

Soon, her stomach began to rumble. So sluggish and dreadfully, she tiptoed into the hallway. She passed by Peter’s closed door, ultimately ignoring it; her music still pounded in her ears, and that’s all she needed for comfort. Michelle composed herself ran down the steps, turning into the kitchen and pulling out a box of cereal.

 

Once her bowl was poured, she sat down at the table and started to eat. It didn’t replace the bitter taste in her mouth, nor did it make her twisted stomach feel any better. Still, Michelle took her time in eating, and didn’t even notice when the front door open and closed.

 

A chair knocked into her own, and someone pulled her earbuds out. “Hello, Michelle,” Harry hummed brightly. 

 

“Back off,” she snapped, her foot pushing his chair away.

 

“Wow, someone’s in a mood. Is it-- wait, don’t tell me. Let me guess. You and Peter started getting busy but he couldn’t get it up. No, my parents walked in. Peter said, ‘ _ I like you, but as a friend _ .’ Or--”

 

Was it his personal mission to drive Michelle into her own grave? She never should have told him about her stupid feelings in the first place. “Can you shut the hell up?” she growled. “It’s a hangover, that’s it.”

 

Harry’s eyes sarcastically widened. He jumped out of his seat and poured some cereal for himself, and was back at her side way too quickly. “Well, if you care, I’m doing great. I don’t get hangovers. What does it feel like?”

 

Michelle clenched her jaw as her nostrils flared. She prepared to bite back, however, she could hear two pairs of feet walking down the steps. Suddenly, she grabbed her half empty bowl and moved towards the sink.

 

“Harry,” she heard Peter greet. With a quick glance over her shoulder, she could see that Peter and Liz were dressed to go out. Liz was attached to him at the hip, their hands intertwined. “This is Liz. My girlfriend.”

 

“ _ Ooh _ , okay. Now I see.” That comment was meant for Michelle; she gripped the bowl and started washing, water going everywhere in the sink. “How’s it going, Liz?”

 

“I’m great! Peter is going to show me around the city. We’re going to have such a romantic day.”

 

“Y-yeah. Just give me a second, okay?”

 

Peter crossed the kitchen and dallied by her side. Michelle could feel his eyes looking at her hands, which were focused on scrubbing the bowl clean. “I think it’s good, MJ,” he said with a chuckle.

 

“You can never be too sure.” She didn’t want to look at him. It would hurt too much.

 

“MJ,” his voice was a whisper, “I didn’t know she was coming. And-- and if I had, I would’ve told you. I promise. And… I kinda told her--”

 

Finally, the bowl was adequately clean. She grabbed a towel and started drying it. “Told her what, Pete?”

 

“Well, she somehow got this totally, totally wild idea in her head that we-- And she wouldn’t drop it and so I kinda told her that you and Harry were a thing.”

 

Michelle dropped the bowl in the sink, and it flopped onto its side. “You  _ what _ ?” she suppressed her shout. Finally, she looked up at Peter. He was itching the back of his neck and grimacing, with those stupid, doey eyes.

 

“I am so, so sorry but-- Just, please go along with it. She’s only going to be here for a few days and I will owe you my whole life. Please, MJ?”

 

Dating Harry sounded like her worst nightmare. But, it was Peter who was asking her; the person who coaxed her down from  _ actual _ nightmares, the person that she had an undeniable sweet spot for. “Fine,” she huffed. “Whatever.”

 

Peter grinned victoriously, his bottom lip stuck underneath his teeth. Her heart fluttered. 

 

“Peter?” Liz said from across the room. They both turned around and saw Harry next to her. “Harry just asked if he and Michelle could tag along. That’d be okay, right? I could get to know your friends better and hear things from someone who actually lives here.”

 

Michelle lightly shook her head, still looking at Peter. “I--”

 

“Come on! It’d be a blast,” Harry rejoiced. He crossed the room so he could snake his arm around Michelle’s neck, bringing her in close. Peter’s jaw clenched as he watched the interaction. “You and your girl. Me and  _ my  _ girl. It’s only what we’ve been talking about for months.”

 

Peter just stared at Michelle, waiting for a response from her. His eyes darted from her face to Harry’s hand that hovered in a dangerous place, and his glare was enough for Harry to retract it and place it on her shoulder, instead.

 

She spoke, and hoped she was a good enough liar to pull off a happy front. “That sounds like fun, I guess. Just let me get dressed.”

 

Michelle tore Harry’s hand off of her. Quickly, she dipped into her room and changed into multiple layers, due to the cold weather, and when deciding if she should wear a different sweatshirt or keep Peter’s on-- she picked Peter’s.

 

She didn’t pick it for the right reasons, though. She didn’t pick it because it gave her extra warmth or comfort, or because it was a better sweatshirt than all the ones she owned. Michelle picked it because a small, very controlling part of her hoped Liz would notice.

 

It was good that she was here. Her arrival was giving Michelle the slap in the face that she needed, and it was going to prove to her that Peter was  _ happily _ in love, and there was nothing that would change that.

 

First up, Liz wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Harry and Michelle got the only two seats left, while Liz and Peter stood a few feet away. She was watching as Peter’s hand slipped onto his girlfriend’s waist, holding her close as the metro car vibrated. Liz pulled on his coat and would sneak in kisses, but other than that, she wouldn’t stop talking. Her mouth just kept moving and moving. Peter nodded along, every so often glancing at Michelle and Harry.

 

She snapped out of it and turned to the boy next to her. “Go ahead and gloat, Osborn. I know this is just another excuse for you to ridicule me.”

 

“I’m not going to  _ ridicule _ you, Michelle. I’m trying to help you get over your feelings.”

 

“I don’t think acting like I like you is going to do anything.”

 

Harry groaned, and pointed back over at Peter. Liz’s fingers were in his hair in a playful manner. “Seeing  _ that _ will. It’ll hurt, sure, but you’re smart. You’ll train your brain into not thinking about him like that.”

 

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself…” her voice trailed off. 

 

Michelle’s attention was entirely focused on how Peter was acting. At the Eiffel Tower, he was quiet and flushed; his face red from embarrassment as Liz posed for a picture, placing a kiss on his cheek. He resisted holding her hand, and when he finally did, it was only for a short while. And, at every attraction they went to, Peter kept looking over at Michelle. He was sympathetic, but could never get words out of his mouth to express it. If it wasn’t on his own accords, it was because Liz would cut him off.

 

Once, though, he got a chance. They had sat down for lunch and she excused herself to go to the bathroom, and as soon as she was out of earshot, Peter turned to Michelle. 

 

“MJ, I am so, so sorry,” he said. She had a response ready in her head, however something always got in their way. This time, it was Harry.

 

“Dude,” he started. “What do you keep apologizing for? You didn’t know Liz was coming, it’s not your fault.”

 

“No, no, that’s not why I’m apologizing. It’s just-- I--”

 

Michelle contained her wild thoughts. She smacked her lips, turning her attention to the busy menu. “No big deal, Pete. There’s nothing to be sorry about. Hey, Harry, doesn’t the pasta sound good?”

 

Harry nodded, a boisterous smile on his face as Peter slumped back into his chair, defeated. “Sounds delicious, Michelle.”

 

Lunch was so much worse than walking around. From ten yards away, she couldn’t tell what they were saying; all she could see was the hand holding, and the kissing, and the sweet little touches. Now, up close, Michelle could still see all the PDA, but also hear their conversations. Liz opened up a conversation about how much she missed him, adding in details of what she missed. And Peter, as expected, said the same thing.

 

Her heart was ripping apart at the seems. His voice was shushed in an attempt for no one else to hear, except it was a failure. He called her gorgeous; he said he missed the way she smiled; he didn’t forget what her hand felt like in his; Peter said all these things and Michelle kept wishing he was saying it to  _ her _ .

 

If she tried, she could imagine that he was. He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, guilt ridden and shamefully. And she truly didn’t understand. She truly wanted it to stop.

 

Michelle wanted  _ everything _ to stop. Her feelings and Peter’s guilty looks, and the whole displays of affections that Liz seemed to purposely parade in her face. She could hardly take it anymore.

 

The last straw was when Liz asked how long Michelle and Harry had been dating. Peter coughed the answer up himself, stating, “Oh, you know. Since October.”

 

“Really? That’s kind of sweet. Have you guys thought about what you’re going to do when Michelle goes back home?”

 

Neither of them had an answer. So Liz kept talking.

 

“You know what I mean, right? Like you’re going to be across the world from each other. I was  _ convinced _ that Michelle and Peter had something going on and it’s only been three months. Can you imagine a whole year?” She let out a sigh of relief, and looked to Michelle. “Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. It’d be ridiculous if you two were a thing.  _ Insane _ .”

 

It was a stupid comment. It shouldn’t have set off a chain reaction inside of her.

 

“I guess you’re just crazy.” She gripped the side of her table and pushed backwards, her chair moving across the tile. “You guys wouldn’t mind if I left, right? I have this essay I haven’t even started yet.”

 

Eagerly, Liz shook her head. Harry shrugged. Peter shouted her name.

 

Michelle didn’t wait for any follow up comments. She got up from her seat and stormed towards the door, feeling woozy and lightheaded as the cold December air hit her.

 

She B-lined towards the metro, except someone caught her wrist before she made it. “MJ,” Peter said. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing,” she spoke, turning around to face him.

 

“It’s obviously not nothing. You wouldn’t storm out like that. I-- we’re best friends, MJ. We tell each other everything, right? So, come on. Tell me.” He awaited her response with desperate eyes. She wasn’t going to give him one. “Is it because of something Liz said? Because if she upset you, I’ll tell her to knock it off. Or is it just the hangover. Or did  _ I _ do something wrong?”

 

“I want to go home, Pete. Can we just drop it?”

 

Peter refused, and his loose grip around her wrist tightened slightly. “Tell me what’s wrong. If it’s something I did, just say it. It can’t be as bad as the time when I got ketchup in your eye, or slammed your hair in the door, or…”

 

He kept talking. His voice was nothing but ringing-- a droning and annoying ringing, that drove Michelle crazy. She couldn’t take it anymore; not when Peter’s fingers on her skin was so soft and oddly comforting, especially in this situation.

 

She snapped, “Oh my God, stop talking. I  _ like you _ , Peter. Okay? I like you. And I have for a really long time, so seeing you with Liz-- it hurts. And that’s just the way it is, I guess. You’re in love with Liz, and not me, and it’s whatever. Really.” 

 

Peter’s mouth opened in shock. His face was blank, though, as if nothing was registering. “MJ--” he whispered, his hold on her disappearing. “I don’t know--”

 

“Go back to your girlfriend, Peter,” she choked, her throat closing up and tears collecting in her waterline. “I can find my own way home.”

 

And that’s exactly what Michelle did.

 

She didn’t get lost, like Peter did all those weeks before. She didn’t cry, even though her body was pleading for a release. She sat there, staring into an abyss, waiting for her stop to come.

 

Michelle buried herself beneath her sheets as soon as she got home. Finally, she let out the sobs she had been holding in for twenty minutes, not bothering to silence them. 

 

She didn’t know what to think, or do, or how to act once Peter got back. So, she cried and ached and berated herself for letting this happen in the first place. This wasn’t what her mother sent her here for; this wasn’t why she wanted to go in the first place. Michelle wanted to get away from all the drama her friends back home created, not be in the center of it.

 

And what was she supposed to do when Peter got back? She couldn’t say that she was kidding, or take back what she said-- he wouldn’t let her. He would press Michelle to talk, and in the end she would be totally humiliated and even more heartbroken. He would look at her with a sad smile and say, “MJ, I love you. I do. Just as a friend.”

 

Just the thought of that made her insides twist.

 

Michelle didn’t see Peter again until late that night. Between that time she had taken a lengthy nap, and Harry came home and tried giving her comfort by telling her that “maybe in another life, you and Peter would work out.” (It wasn’t very helpful.) And, when she did see him again, he was by himself.

 

He knocked on her door but didn’t wait for a response. Peter walked in, carrying himself with a purpose. “I have a few things to say,” he stated, his body shaking.

 

“Uh,” Michelle gasped. She didn’t want to talk to him, but it seemed she didn’t have a choice. “Go ahead.”

 

“Okay, well first, Liz went home. I guess we broke-- Uh, we were at the airport for hours trying to get a flight home and the whole time it was just… It’s not important right now. The second thing is, I’m sorry I didn’t react earlier. When you said you like me.” He sat on the edge of her bed, right next to her. “I was in shock, you know?”

 

He wouldn’t look at her. His attention was diverted to the floor, and his leg shook up and down. Michelle wanted to reach out to him and touch him and try to tell him to take a few deep breaths, but she couldn’t get the words out.

 

“And, for a really long time-- way, way too long for me not to feel guilty about-- I have had this--” 

 

“‘This’ what?” she finally mustered.

 

Peter tilted his head up, their eyes finally connecting. The corner of his lips tugged upwards, his hand found its way onto her shin, and he sighed. “I’m really bad with words,” he whispered.

 

Peter leaned forwards.

 

Their noses grazed. Their foreheads leaned against each other, and for a moment, they stayed in that position. Yearning for the other’s touch but unsure if it was the right decision or not.

 

Michelle decided it was. She closed the gap, their lips falling into place and locking into a soft kiss. It was gentle, as if they were both scared. Still-- she was kissing Peter Parker. Her whole world froze, just so she could savor this one, fleeting moment. 


	9. Chapter 9

**PETER**

 

He wasn’t sure what he was doing.

 

Of course he  _ knew _ \-- he was kissing Michelle. His hands were drowning in her hair and his lips were gently moving against her’s. Peter was highly aware of her fingers; how they danced dangerously across his leg and up his chest and created a tingling sensation on his skin. He was kissing her. And it was riveting.

 

But, to say he truly knew was a different story. He hardly knew how he got there, as the hours after Michelle had confessed her feelings were all a blur. The only thing that was pressing on his mind was how her words shook him, and how he was pretty sure he felt the same way.

 

Peter had only snapped out of his daze to talk to Liz in the airport. She berated him, saying how she knew this was a mistake and how they were over, and how terrible he was for not keeping his promise to love her. He listened, and felt the sting of a slap on his hand when he reached out to comfort her, and got one phrase in before Liz told him to leave. “I didn’t mean to,” he had whispered, even though it gave her no solace.

 

Really, he hadn’t meant to catch these feelings. But he couldn’t stop himself, not when Michelle was the way she was. She made Peter feel accepted, more than he ever had in his whole life, and was hilarious, and smart, and-- He didn’t want to say perfect, because Michelle didn’t believe in perfect people. But she was as close as the human race could get.

 

And he was kissing her. Peter was on his back, Michelle straddling him, their movements as slow as could be. It was like they were savoring the moment.

 

Suddenly, she had stopped, and pulled herself back. She was still sitting on his lap when she wiped the saliva off of her lips and looked down at him, almost indecisively. “Are-- are you sure about this, Peter?” Michelle had asked, swinging her leg around so he could have his free range of movements back.

 

“Sure?” he repeated, sitting up and fixing his hair. “What does that mean?”

 

She took a deep breath, her posture slumped. “I mean… I mean you just broke up with Liz. Which, I hope you did because you wanted to, because she wasn’t supportive of you, and not because of me. And--” Michelle shrugged and let out a frustrated groan. “And I know you do, but I just need to hear it. You  _ like _ me, right? This isn’t just payback at Liz, right?”

 

Peter moved closer to her and took her hands. He held onto them, giving her a solid, comforting squeeze. “I really, really like you. And it isn’t payback. I would never do that to you, MJ.”

 

“I know,” she whispered back. “I just needed to hear it.”

 

They stared at each other. Silence filled the room as they tried to figure out what to do next; what to say to someone, in a serious manner, who you was just on top of you and making you feel like your body had successfully reached euphoria. Peter’s tongue was stuck in his throat, and he could still taste her lips on his. 

 

“I want to be with you, Pete,” Michelle said. Her hand was previously flimsy in his grasp, and now she laced their fingers together. “But… not if you aren’t ready.”

 

“I’m ready,” he promised. To him, in that moment, it felt like he would’ve followed her anywhere. Michelle and the way she made him feel was like nothing and nobody he had ever encountered before. “We can take it slow. If you think that’d be better.”

 

She nodded obsessively, biting down on her lip and avoiding eye contact. “I do,” she managed, like it hurt her to say. 

 

Peter pulled her back so they were laying down. He was flat on his back, his arm around her body and holding her tight against him. He rested his cheek on the top of her head as Michelle adjusted herself onto her side, one of her legs arched up high on his lap and the other brushing against his. Her head was on his chest and her hand was gripping his bicep and she let out a huge sigh of relief. They laid there in silence, both of them content with their current, in the moment status. 

 

So, they were taking things slow. 

 

At least that’s what they agreed on. 

 

Monday during school, they walked in holding hands. No one really batted an eye, as they thought it was just another occurrence of Peter and Michelle acting on their feelings without  _ really  _ acting on them. The only person who really cared was Harry. They had locked themselves in Michelle’s room all of Sunday, ignoring his attempts at talking so they could savor the other’s company. When he looked back at them in the school hallway, his jaw had dropped.

 

He started boasting about it. “I  _ knew _ it. For ages, you have been in love with him--” Michelle’s eyes went wide when he said the word  _ love _ , but her attempts at silencing him were meaningless. “‘ _ Peter has a girlfriend. Peter wouldn’t like me. Peter is too good for me _ .’ And what was I saying all along, Michelle? That Peter…” He waited for her to fill in the blank. 

 

“That Peter likes me just as much as I do him,” she said begrudgingly, rolling her eyes. 

 

“Exactly. And look! I was right.” Harry turned his attention to Peter, a proud grin on his face. “You move fast. To MJ from Liz in a matter of--”

 

Michelle groaned, ramming her shoulder into Harry’s chest and dragging Peter down the hall. “He’s such a dick,” she complained, eventually taking her hand away from his. “Always running his fucking mouth all the damn time.”

 

Peter ignored how his hand now felt empty. He pulled Michelle to the side after he realized he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace, and made sure they were out of Harry’s view. “What did he mean by the I’m too good for you stuff? Do you really think that?”

 

Maybe it was the wrong time to ask, maybe it would feel like he was ignoring her rant about Harry-- but Peter couldn’t keep his mouth shut sometimes, either. 

 

“I said that a while ago, when he first found out. I don’t still think like that. And besides, I was wrong. You  _ do _ like me and  _ I  _ am too good for you,” she said, cracking a smile. Her arms snaked around his neck and she pulled him in for a kiss, after checking the halls for teachers. 

 

“What happened to taking it slow?” Peter asked once they parted. 

 

“We’ve kissed before, Pete.” She grabbed his hand once more, and tore him off the wall. “Now let’s go to class.”

 

Sneaking kisses in the halls turned into making out for the duration of the movie and then into Peter trying not to blurt out his feelings during Christmas dinner. She never really celebrated Christmas, and he forced her into a Santa hat and his Star Wars holiday sweatshirt. His first two thoughts were about how lovely she looked, and how he loved her.

 

Slow was not his expertise. 

 

He almost told her, a few times. Peter only stopped himself because he realized how stupid it would be-- they had only been together for a few weeks, they both felt immensely guilty about Liz, and May… Well, last time Peter talked to May, she wasn’t very happy over how things occurred. She told him that not telling Liz about his feelings was disrespectful, and then getting with Michelle just hours after was, as well. 

 

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Peter had told her. 

 

“The second you even questioned your feelings for Michelle, you should’ve broke things off with Liz. It would’ve been the right thing to do.”

 

She was disappointed in him, as she said over and over again. It got to him, and irritated him, and made him more angry than shameful. “I  _ get _ it, okay? I understand,” Peter had eventually snapped.

 

“You know what? We’ll have this conversation later, after we have both calmed down. Goodnight, Peter.” Her voice was strict and unpleasant; Peter had struck a nerve.

 

“Yeah. Night, May.”

 

They didn’t even say ‘I love you,’ like they always did when they hung up the phone. Nor would they “talk about it later,” as neither of them were eager to call the other.

 

So, with May’s disapproval hanging over his head, and with Michelle’s request to take things slow, Peter wasn’t going to just blurt his feelings out. Sometimes, though, he really, really wanted to. Like on Christmas, or on New Years when she kissed him in front of the whole party, something they had never done before, and like on a normal Saturday, about a month after they got together.

 

They had taken a break from studying history about ten minutes ago, when Michelle suddenly pulled out a piece of paper from her notebook and began to sketch him. “I want to perfect your portrait,” she murmured. “History sucks, anyways.” 

  
“What happened to the last one? I thought that one was perfect.” 

 

“Your eyes were wonky. And you don’t have wonky eyes.” Michelle looked up at him and gave a toothless smile, adding on, “You have cute eyes.”

 

Peter smiled back at her, leaning over the books on her bed, trying give her a gentle kiss. She stopped him, though. “After I finish this,” she told him.

 

He sat there and watched her work. He had became so hypnotized by her movements lately that he never reached for his phone, instead surveying her different expressions. Michelle got frustrated around the eye area, but whizzed through the mouth and chin without difficulty. Peter wanted to make a joke, like how his lips were her expertise, but he decided to keep quiet the entire time.

“Pete,” Michelle said, out of the blue. “We have two months left here.”

 

Out of shock, he chuckled. “Thanks for that terrible reminder, MJ.”

 

“I wasn’t  _ finished _ . We have two months left here, right? And I think…” her voice trailed off as she concentrated on his eyebrows. “I think you should start taking pictures again. I mean, you used to carry your camera around like it was your baby and then one day you just stopped.”

 

He hadn’t even realized he stopped. Michelle noticed everything. “I… I guess I just took pictures of everything I wanted to take pictures of.”

 

Michelle pursed her lips together and nodded. “Well, I spent a lot of money on that camera, though, so if you aren’t going to use it, I’d like it back.” 

 

Peter watched her smile grow, his heart stopping as he did. He stole her pencil from her hand and moved on top of her in one swift action, the sound of her laughter loud in his ear. “I didn’t know that camera came with an ultimatum,” he spoke.

 

Michelle’s hands cupped his face, her blinding smile fading as she stared into his eyes. “It didn’t, I just want to see you taking pictures again. Photographers are hot.  _ Also _ ,” she quickly added before Peter could interrupt. “I know how much you enjoy it, and how it makes you feel closer to your uncle.”

 

And that’s when he almost said it. The words were on the tip of his tongue as he looked down at her, at this beautiful girl who he was lucky to even know. But, as he searched her face, he was reminded of a few things. Of his guilt, of May, of Michelle’s own request.

 

It was these moments that solidified his feelings even more. She was one of the only people in the world who understood  _ all _ of his thoughts and emotions. Michelle made his heart stop, and he didn’t know how he got so lucky to have met her.

 

Peter kissed her. Michelle’s arms flew from his face to be around his neck as he moved her body up the bed, in a better position than it was before. He could feel her smiling against him as she kissed back. 

 

“Did that mean you’ll start doing it again?” she asked. Peter started pressing his lips against her neck, too enthralled by her soft skin to answer. “Pete,” her sternness rang.

 

He pulled himself away, moving to look her in the eyes. “Yes, MJ. I’ll start doing it again.”

 

Victoriously, Michelle smiled. She hooked her arms around his shoulders and flipped them around, so that she was sitting on top of him. She leaned over, resting her forearms right next to Peter’s head. He placed his hands on her thighs, running them up and down the lightweight fabric of her pants. “Good,” Michelle whispered, her lips a hair away.

 

She closed the gap. She moved forward, and Peter’s neck strained as he stopped the kiss from breaking. Michelle rocked like that, back and forth, her mouth opening to give him access, and--

 

“Peter?” Mrs. Osborn’s voice said from the other side of the door. “Are you in there?”

 

Michelle paused and retracted her head. Neither of them moved until Mr. Osborn spoke, his voice booming, “Peter, it’s important.” The door handle moved with no avail. “What happened to no locked doors?”

 

She groaned, swinging her leg around and flopping her back onto her bed. Peter, terrified about what the Osborns had to say, stood up. Maybe Harry snitched and told them that Peter was sleeping in Michelle’s room. Maybe they found out about his C minus, or that he was the one that broke the old, vintage vase.

 

Peter opened the door and took one look back at Michelle before slipping out into the hall. His host parents talked in hushed tones, like they were debating something. “Norman,” Mrs. Osborn eventually hissed, and pointed towards Peter.

 

Yeah, he was screwed. 

 

**MICHELLE**

 

She wasn’t worried. Whatever they needed to talk to Peter about, he would be fine; whether it be over a bad grade or that stupid vase he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the Osborns had a soft spot for him. They let him off easy whenever they found him breaking their rules, something that had always pissed Harry off.

 

So, Michelle wasn’t stressing over it. He would come back into her room with that big, dopey grin and they’d resume what they started. For now, Michelle was staring at her unfinished drawing of him. She didn’t really need to do this one-- he was right, the last one  _ was _ perfect. Michelle just liked having an excuse to study his face. The curve of his jaw, the crooked section of his nose; she was ashamed to admit that she was obsessed.

 

She just couldn’t get enough of him. That thought had grazed her mind hundreds of times before; before they got together, during that one month-- Michelle didn’t care how many times she had to think it. It was true. She loved how Peter laughed when he was embarrassed, how he would sometimes pulled her in close, his hand firm on her waist, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered things. Mainly, they were meaningless. Things like, “I’m hungry,” or, “That’s a nice color on you.” Sometimes he would surprise her, though, by telling her random, somewhat important, confessions. Like the time he told her that woman sitting in the corner reminded him of his aunt, and how it was making it too difficult to stay in that cafe. Michelle had grabbed his hand and, without a word to their friends, the two of them stumbled to a different coffee shop.

 

She loved how he was comfortable doing that. She loved how unpredictable he was with his words, but so predictable with his actions. God, Michelle loved  _ him _ .

 

In her first and last relationship, love never came. She never noticed the little things, nor did she really care to. With Peter… With Peter, she had been harboring her feelings for months. They grew and developed in ways Michelle couldn’t control and now, having the chance to kiss him whenever she wanted, they were out of control.

 

Was it even love, though? She never had an abundance of it, with her parents being cold and withdrawn towards everything except her grades. Even towards each other, they hardly acted like they liked the other. However, the way Peter talked about his aunt and his uncle, and how their love was something Peter could only dream of-- it convinced her. Convinced Michelle that it was love, that she was screwed, that she didn’t care she was screwed.

 

Hopefully, she would get around to telling him. Not today, not that week, but maybe within the remaining days of January. Michelle could hear his voice now, jokingly calling her a hypocrite. “Take things slow, huh?” he would say. Oddly, she really wanted to hear those words.

 

She was terrified of what would happen when they got home. Queens and Brooklyn, although only a subway ride away, were hardly close, in her standards. There wouldn’t be any randomly walking over to his house, since she would never be in the area. All of their dates would have to be planned so Peter could catch the right train at the right time so he wouldn’t be late. And if there was an emergency, and Michelle just oh so desperately needed him, how long would it take? Twenty, thirty minutes?

 

She was treating it like it was two different countries. But that’s what it felt like-- at all times for the past four months, Peter had always been within her grasp. It’d be like he was light years away when they go back home.

 

Michelle shoved it to the back of her brain and continued on her drawing. She shaded in his cheekbones and emphasized his jawline, and stared down at it and thought it needed  _ something _ different. Different than all of her other drawings of him, where it was just his portrait. Quickly thinking of what would make him laugh--which, honestly could’ve been anything--Michelle drew a dunce hat. She made his hair curl around it and made his smile brighter, and finally, she was happy with the drawing.

 

Now it was just time for her to wait for Peter to return. Whatever they were talking about couldn’t take that long, she thought, beginning to scroll through her phone. As time passed, and passed, she started getting worried. Her phone no longer secured her and she moved onto her history textbook. Arguably, that made things worse, letting her mind wander more and more. Michelle slammed it shut and stared at the door, wondering if maybe, she should check on what was happening.

 

No.  _ No _ . That’d be weird. It was a private conversation and Peter would just tell her later.

 

Time passed slow, with five minutes feeling like twenty, and ten minutes feeling like forty. What the hell could be taking so long? The list of options that ran through her mind made her paranoid and put her on edge.

 

Suddenly, the door to Peter and Harry’s bedroom shut, and Michelle could hear Mrs. Osborn in the hall yelling, “If you need anything, we’re here, Peter.”

 

“I’m okay. But thank you,” Peter’s voice shook.

 

Michelle sat up, attentively listening for more of their conversation. Things fell silent, though, the only thing she could hear was the opening and slamming of Peter’s dresser drawers.

 

Her stomach fell. Her paranoia hit her like a brick.

 

She placed her feet on the ground, gently walking across her room and into the hall. She knocked on Peter’s door a few times, to be met with a loud sigh. “I said I was okay, Mrs. Osborn.”

 

“I’m not Mrs. Osborn,” Michelle scoffed. She lowered her voice, checking over her shoulders before joking, “But I can be, if that’s what you like.”

 

The door swung open, and Peter was on the other side with a thin smile. However, she knew it wasn’t real; it was there in an attempt to mask how sad he looked. It was as if he had been crying, with red puffy eyes and blotchy skin, and a jaw that shook like he was still trying to calm himself down.

 

“Peter--” she gasped, taking a step into his room. She placed her hand on his cheek; Peter leaned into it as his chin trembled. 

 

Peter closed his eyes, wrapping his arms tightly around her to bring her in for a hug. It was long, like he was scared to let her go. “What’s wrong?” Michelle asked. She ran her fingers through his hair, remembering how he said that was comforting for him. “Pete, what’s wrong?”

 

Against her shoulder, he shook his head. His breath was hot against her skin, his tears getting her shirt damp. Still, they stood there; the embrace getting tighter the more comfort Peter desired, and Michelle getting more worried as it progressed.

 

“You can talk to me,” she reminded him. “You can tell me anything, Peter. Just-- just tell me if you’re okay.”

 

He took one more shaky breath, then placed his hands on her waist and separated himself from her. “It’s not me,” Peter confessed. “It’s-- it’s my aunt. And it’s Liz. It’s just  _ everything _ .”

 

“What do you mean?” Michelle cleared his face of hair that was stuck to his skin, while she kicked the door closed.

 

“The-- the last time I talked to May… she told me that she was disappointed in me. For the way things played out with Liz. And the Osborns just told me that May is in the  _ hospital _ , and Liz is there, and I’m not.”

 

Michelle was stunned; this isn’t what she had expected.

 

She grabbed his hand and led him to sit down on the bed. “The hospital? For what?”

 

Peter shrugged. “A-- a heart attack, I think. Apparently she’s been so stressed out lately and she’s ‘older’ and her diet consists of fucking Chinese take out four times a week,” he scorned, gripping Michelle’s hand. “And… and this wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t here, right? Because she wouldn’t have to worry about me being here and I would’ve made her some healthy dinners and--”

 

“You can’t think like that, Peter.”

 

“They didn’t even call me, MJ,” he continued. “May was apparently  _ with _ Liz when it happened, and they didn’t even call me. Liz called the  _ Osborns _ . Is May so disappointed with me that she can’t even bare talking to me?”

 

“She’s probably just resting, Pete. Or maybe she was talking to her doctor and told Liz to call you, but because Liz doesn’t want to talk to you, she just called the Osborns. Whatever the reason is, I’m certain May doesn’t feel that way. You’re her whole world, Peter.” Randomly, Michelle kissed his hand, and it made him shudder. 

 

He laid onto his back, freeing his hand of her grasp and rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know. I can’t--”

 

She looked to his floor, which was covered in piles of clothes and his suitcase was resting against the bed. Michelle knew what this meant. She knew it, but she still asked. “You can’t stay here, can you?”

 

A pause followed. A pause where Peter grabbed her hand, and where Michelle took it upon herself to lay down next to him. She watched him shake his head, and felt her heart shatter. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...thank you so much for reading! sorry for the long wait. this chapter really frustrated me but i guess i kinda like it now. also from now on im really busy for the next month, so if i dont update for a few weeks thats why! thanks for your patience and i hope you liked it <3
> 
> twitter: @parkerbjones  
> curiouscat: https://curiouscat.me/


	10. Chapter 10

**MICHELLE**

 

All five of them were packed into the Osborn’s tiny car. Peter was in the middle of the two other teens, and his hand was a comfort against Michelle’s. Harry kept giving both of them sad glances, looking at her like  _ her _ mom was in the hospital.

 

She had gotten zero rest the night before. For the most part, Michelle had helped Peter back. It took a while, though, as she paused and reminisced every time she found a somewhat sentimental object. The process became long and depressing and soon it was three in the morning.

 

And when Michelle and Peter both retreated to her bed, they laid down facing each other. They stared into the other’s eyes and exchanged whispers. “I’ll miss you,” Peter had said. “You don’t know how much you mean to me, MJ.”

 

“I’ll miss you, too” she promised, taking his hand in her’s. “And it’s only two months, right? I lasted seventeen years without you. Two months will be nothing.”

 

She meant it as a joke, as Michelle knew the next two months would be the longest of her life. Before she met Peter, she was content with being alone and content with not knowing what real love felt like, and she didn’t want to give it up. She might have Harry and his friends still by her side, but none of them equated to Peter in the slightest. 

 

Michelle would be alone once more.

 

He let out a chuckle. “I guess you’re right. Besides, I’ll be busy taking care of my aunt and working and with school. And you’ll, y’know, be here. In Paris. You’ll forget about me while you’re having fun.”

 

“Shut up,” she scoffed and lightly kicked his shin. She left her foot resting on his leg and felt Peter’s free hand wrap around her waist. “I would never forget you, Peter. You’re more important to me than that.”

 

Peter’s breath hitched. He looked into her eyes, opening his mouth, and Michelle got scared. If they had time left together, this would’ve been the perfect moment to confess her  _ true _ feelings. The ‘I love you’ feelings. But this wasn’t the right time. It’d hurt much more to hear him say it, if that’s what he was going to say-- and it probably would have been.

 

Instead, Michelle kissed him. Her hand cupped his face as his shock wore off and he leaned into it. It was slow and short, and after, she turned to her side and rested her head on Peter’s chest. “I’ll miss you,” she said again. 

 

She fell asleep to his hand running up and down her back, his heartbeat steady in her ears, and his warmth radiating through her body. Michelle wanted to be in that position for forever.

 

But, she couldn’t. She woke up the next morning to a cold and empty bed-- and she realized this is what it would be like for two straight months.

 

Peter walked into her room a few minutes later, dressed in baggy sweatpants and an even bigger sweatshirt. “Is that really what you’re wearing on the plane?” Michelle asked, with a tired voice.

 

Forcing a smile, he looked down. “What’s wrong with this?” He sat down at the edge of the bed and took her hand. “I’m comfortable.”

 

“Yeah, you look it.”

 

Silence followed. He traced her skin with his thumb and scanned her face with sad eyes. Michelle reached out, combing her fingers through his hair. It broke Peter from his gaze and he leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead.

 

Her lips started to tremble. She was distraught, but if she cried now, his guilt would be too much for him to live with. Michelle tapped his chest, prompting him to move back. “What?” he whispered.

 

“Nothing,” she answered. “Let’s make sure you’re ready to go.”

 

She gave him a thin smile and pushed herself onto her feet. Peter stayed where he was, watching her walk out of the room, letting her hand fall out of his grasp. Michelle closed the door behind her as she stepped into the bathroom.

 

Her emotions exploded out of her. The tears flowed quickly as she covered her mouth, so she wouldn’t alert Peter or anyone else. She shouldn’t have been this sad-- she had no right. She has only known him for four months, and even though they were the best four months of her life, Peter should’ve been the blubbering mess, not Michelle.

 

She grabbed a washcloth and ran it under hot water. Michelle washed her face slowly, holding the warmth over her eyes and relaxing. Her eyes were still slightly red and puffy afterwards, but just enough for her to come up with a flimsy excuse if Peter asked.

 

He was waiting for her back in her room. His bags were by his feet and his shoes were secured on his feet. Michelle checked her phone-- they had twenty minutes until they had to leave. 

 

“It’s going to be so weird to be back home,” Peter spoke. “I’ll actually be able to understand strangers. I won’t have to ask for extra ice cubes. When I go out to eat, I’ll actually be  _ full _ .”

 

“So you won’t miss Paris?” she asked, sitting next to him on the bed. 

 

“That’s not what I said. You know I will.”  He turned his head to face her and leaned in slightly. His forehead leaned against her’s as he spoke again, “I’ll miss Harry’s snoring the most, obviously.”

 

Michelle laughed. “I’m sure you will, Pete.”

 

His hand sneaked around her waist, and he started to close the gap between them. They fell backwards onto the bed first, where Peter wasted no time in connecting their lips. He held her close to his body as he kissed her slowly and passionately, and as Michelle threw her arms around his neck.

 

She wished she could focus on kissing him. But-- his shoes were on her bed. The shoes that would carry him to the airport and back to New York and away from her. The bed Michelle would have to come back to, all alone, and sleep in, alone, for two months. The bed that was thousands of miles away from his.

 

Uncomfortably, Michelle wiggled beneath him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his breathing short.

 

“It-- it just feels wrong. I’m sorry, Peter.” She was going to start crying again. Oh, god, she didn’t want this to be his last memory of her.

 

Peter rolled off of her as words started spilling out of his mouth. “No! No, don’t apologize. I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t assume anything and-- are you crying?”

 

She was crying, again, and internally cursing herself, again. Michelle nodded her head and felt Peter’s arms wrap around her to give her a large embrace. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

 

“It’s-- it’s not this. It’s--”

 

“I know, MJ. And I’m still sorry.”

 

Because of course he knew. He was the one person who knew her as well as she knew herself.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Michelle said. Quickly, before he could refute, she added, “You have to go home. Don’t blame yourself just because I can’t handle it.”

 

Peter opened his mouth but then shut it; his eyebrows creased and his hands twitched nervously, but he still didn’t say anything. He just pulled her closer and laid there with her, up until Harry walked into the room, making his presence known by knocking on the door.

 

“The ‘rents want to go in a few minutes,” he announced. “If you are ready, Peter.”

 

The two separated and shot up to their feet. Peter ran his fingers through his hair and nodded over and over again, shaking the humiliation of Harry walking in on them off of him. “Yeah, yeah I’m ready. I’m just going to go to the bathroom first.”

 

“Of course, dude. It’s not like we can leave without you, right?” Harry chuckled.

 

“Yeah, right,” Peter responded. He snuck past Harry, leaving him with Michelle.

 

“ _ ‘Rents _ ?” Michelle mimicked. “Why did you say  _ ‘rents _ ?”

 

“You know, parents. Par-rents. I saw it on a TV show once.” Harry looked down at his feet. “It’s just-- I’ll miss him. It’s so weird with him leaving.”

 

“Oh,” she blurted. “I didn’t think--”

 

He shrugged and cut her off. “I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

 

And, as quick as he came in, Harry left. 

 

She didn’t think they were close like that. 

 

Quickly, she slipped a piece of paper into his suitcase, grabbed it, and started making her way down the steps. The three Osborn’s were collected around the door, and they stared at her sympathetically, the two adults giving her sad smiles. “Peter will be right down,” she explained.

 

She set the bags down. Her hands retreated into her sweatshirt and she rubbed them over and over again as she felt them welling up. Michelle had her back towards them all, not wanting any of them to ask her how she was doing.

 

Peter came hustling down the steps just a few minutes later. He had a grin plastered on his face as jumped off the last step and onto the ground, where he bent over and picked up his suitcase. “Guess we should get moving, huh?” he asked.

 

“Guess so,” Ms. Osborn said. She walked out the door first, followed by her husband, and then after hesitation, their son.

 

Michelle stared at Peter. The necklace he bought her months ago was around her neck, burning a hole in her chest. She pulled on it nervously; this was the last time they would be alone together. 

 

They didn’t share any words. He grabbed her hand and squeezed it, and Michelle gave him a reassuring smile. 

 

One last kiss--a fast one, that was sadly more like a peck--and she led him out to the car. The entire way there, they held hands in silence.

 

**PETER**

 

It took Michelle awhile to say something.

 

Harry had already engulfed him in a hug, making Peter swear on God to call him at least once a month. He said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Osborn, thanking them for their hospitality and warmth. Then, finally, after he settled into the security line, Michelle turned to him and tugged on his hand.

 

“I don’t want this to be a repeat of what happened with you and Liz,” she blurted. “She made you talk on the phone until the point that you resented her and if you ever-- if you ever  _ resented _ me--”

 

“That’s different, MJ.  _ You’re _ different. You don’t ignore my feelings, you accept them like she never did.” Peter was trying to make eye contact, but her head was tilted down.

 

“Pete, I’m just saying, if you don’t want to talk to me occasionally, it’s okay. I need you to tell me. And… if we’re planning on picking things back up when you get home, I need you to be honest.”

 

He had always just assumed that they were already planning on that. “Well, I-- I was hoping we would.”

 

For a moment, Michelle looked up, a hint of a smile hidden behind her hair. She held his hand tighter. “Then we have to tell each other the truth. About if we want to talk or not, or our feelings towards each other or-- or other people.”

 

Peter’s mind went directly to Liz. “MJ--” he started.

 

“I know you would never do anything like that. I’m just saying, we have to be honest with each other. Or else when I get back, things will be different between us.” There was a heavy pause. They took a step forward with the line, and Michelle turned to him, her eyes scanning his face. “And I don’t want things to be different.”

 

She pressed her lips against his; hard, and long, with her hand cupping his cheek. The people behind them in line scoffed, which made Peter’s face heat up and embarrassment fill his body. “I’ll miss you,” Michelle repeated as she stepped away.

 

“I’ll miss you, too,” he said, and watched her walk away from him with a heavy heart.

 

He suffered through the rest of the security line alone. Peter situated himself in a seat outside of his gate, holding a cup of coffee that was too expensive and a candy bar he didn’t need. For the next two hours, he nibbled on the chocolate and sipped the coffee when his mind wandered too far.  _ I wonder if MJ is going to call me when I land _ \-- a sip.  _ Will May even be happy to see me? _ \-- a tiny bite.  _ What if MJ never responds to my texts? _ \-- he finished his drink. 

 

Peter tried to stay focused on the show he had downloaded. There were so many uncertainties, though, too many things that needed to be considered. Expect he didn’t  _ want _ to think about them, or ponder on them, or any other synonym-- Peter wanted his aunt to be healthy and to be with Michelle at the same time. 

 

However, the universe wasn’t giving that to him. He was about to board the plane back home, and for some reason, it terrified him more than going to Paris ever did.

 

Peter sat in the middle of a man a few years older than him, and a woman who fell asleep before they even took off. He watched the provided movies while his body was sending stinging pains through his arms. 

 

The plane wasn’t making him nervous. Neither was the snoring woman or how the man next to him was being selfish and didn’t put his phone on airplane mode. Peter wasn’t sure if he would have any  _ friends _ when he got home. Liz probably told them every terrible thing he did--and rightfully so. May was also royally disappointed in him,. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t want to look at him.

 

And the closer and closer they got to New York, the more Peter understood.

 

As soon as they landed, he made his way to the hospital where May was. He trudged into the lobby and asked the receptionist where he could find May Parker, and after clarifying his relationship to her, she said, “Floor four, room 23.”

 

Peter climbed the stairs instead of taking the elevator. He still had his suitcase, and the weight was straining his muscles. Out of relief, he groaned when he hit the fourth floor, and rested his suitcase on the floor.

 

After picking it up, Peter walked down the hallway, scanning the room numbers. _6… 9… 17… 20…_ _23_. His heart raced and he braced himself as he opened the door. He took small steps, and heard his aunt call, “Hello? Are we doing another check up?”

 

Peter peered his head around the corner. He smiled once he saw her; he missed his aunt so much, with her thick-rimmed glasses and lively energy, even if she was in a hospital bed. “Hey, May,” he said, and put his suitcase and backpack on the floor.

 

“ _ Peter _ ?” she gasped. Her hand went over her heart and her jaw dropped. “What-- what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be--”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Peter pulled a spare chair next to her bed and sat down. “But as soon as I heard, I had to come back.”

 

May frowned. “I didn’t want you to do that, Peter. You were having fun, and that didn’t have to stop just because I’m here.”

 

Nodding, he pursed his lips together. “I know, May. I didn’t want you to to go through this alone.” He took a breath, and then another, before saying, “So… y-you aren’t mad at me still?”

 

“Oh, Peter,” May sighed, lifting his chin up so he would look her in the eyes. “I was never mad at you. Slightly disappointed, but not mad. Maybe I am now, that you threw away all that money…”

 

He let out a laugh, pushing her hand away. “I want to be here, May.”

 

“I’m sure you do. But you  _ deserve _ to be in Paris, with the girl you like. How is she, by the way?”

 

_ She feels terrible because I left her all alone _ . “She’s good. I’m going to call her later tonight. And-- I’m not going back, May.”

 

“Trust me, I know.”

 

May and Peter spent the day together in that stuffy hospital room. For a few hours, his worries subsided-- he was back home. May was his home, wherever that might have been, and he could finally breathe. They caught up in depth, with Peter telling her everything about Paris (leaving out some of the Michelle parts on purpose,) and May informing him on how she handled having an empty nest. (She hated it, he could tell. Her jokes weren’t masking her true feelings all that well.)

 

“You should go home, Peter,” May eventually said. “Sleep in your own bed.”

 

“But--” 

 

“No. No protesting. Go home for me, since I can’t. I’ll still be here in the morning, won’t I?” She stared him down, and it was clear she wasn’t taking any arguments.

 

Peter stood up from his chair, and yawned as he stretched his legs out. He leaned forward and placed a kiss on his aunt’s cheek as she did the same. “Bright and early, I’ll be back,” he promised. 

 

“Take your time,” May advised. “Love you.”

 

“Love you,” he echoed. Peter picked his bags up, took one more glance behind him, and walked out the door.

 

And, not to randomly, his mind traveled to Michelle. He wanted to tell her that he  _ loved _ her before he left. Not in the way he loved his aunt, and not even in the way he loved Liz. Holding him back, though, was his own courage and Michelle, herself. She stopped his attempt-- and it was intentional.

 

Peter wanted to tell her. But this was yet another thing he wasn’t going to do over the phone.

  
When he got back home, he was surprised to see that everything looked the same. It shouldn’t have been that shocking, but Peter was apparently expecting May to have painted the walls a neon yellow or hung up an ugly painting. He didn’t know why; it just felt wrong that everything was the same.

 

He rushed into his room. Nothing had been touched, thank god, even though he wished he would’ve left it in better condition. Peter threw his suitcase onto his bed, opened it up, and a stray, folded piece of paper caught his eye.

 

Confused, he picked it up. It was wrinkled, but on the outside he could see that Michelle had written the words:  _ you’re a loser, pete _ . He chuckled, letting his smile radiate, and opened the paper up. It was a drawing of him, the one she was working on just the other day.

 

Peter wanted it framed.

 

But, the best he could do at the moment was to hang it up. So, with a lot of scotch tape, the drawing and all of his polaroids he had taken from Paris populated his wall. Michelle was in most of them, a fact he happily accepted. 

 

It was late in Paris, so he wasn’t going to call. He texted her, though, telling her that everything was going great.

 

They talked the next day, however, as Peter was just waking up and Michelle was already eating lunch. It lasted all of six minutes, and most of them were filled with her apologizing for calling so early. They texted during Peter’s visit to May, but it was brief.

 

The next time they  _ really _ talked was three days later. For over an hour, they laughed and playfully debated and to Peter, it felt like everything was working. That like Michelle said, nothing had to change.

 

Except, all too fast, things did change.

 

Peter went back to Midtown the next week. He forgot how hard his subjects were without having Michelle as someone to study with. He, also, started cooking for May every night, as apart of her new, healthy, low-sodium diet. Which meant grocery shopping after school.

 

He also started working at Delmar’s on the weekends, which contributed to his busy schedule. Texting with Michelle was a rare occasion after a few weeks, and calls were unheard of.

 

Until, one night, they got twenty minutes to talk.

 

And things were, as Peter feared, different.

 

Less carefree, and more stressful. Less casual, and more awkward. Neither of them knew what to say, which was so unusual for them.

 

“So… how’s your aunt?” Michelle asked.

 

“She’s good. Great, even.”

 

“That’s good,” she echoed. “Things are boring without you. Harry hasn’t stopped crying over it.”

 

Peter scoffed. “And what about you?”

 

“I’m…” she trailed off. “Well, you know me.”

 

Weird. Distant. Uncomfortable. 

 

“I miss you,” he said.

 

“I miss you, too.”

 

Michelle said it genuinely, he knew, but something was off about it. Something was off about the way he said it, himself, but he couldn’t tell what.

 

“I should go to bed, soon,” she pipped up. “Goodnight, Peter.”

 

“Goodnight, MJ.”

 

_ Peter _ . She said  _ Peter _ . Not Pete, or the occasional Parker, but Peter. A name she liked to reserve for serious conversations.

 

Hearing it made his heart fall, deep into his stomach.

 

And he wondered if they would still be together when she returned home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am SO sorry this took so long, but its been a really busy month for me. the plan for now is that next chapter is the last one, but i might write an ep. thank you sm for reading!! i hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> so uh... a new story! i’m sosososo excited for this yall dont even know. i’m still gonna work on my other multichaps, and until i finish one this might have to take the back seat, BUT i have a lot planned for this. i hope you enjoyed it and i hope you support it!! tsym <3


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